


Hunting for Salvation

by sarkywoman



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 06:20:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarkywoman/pseuds/sarkywoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Earth-Country is still recovering from the Demon War when the Angels attack. Severely outmatched, the Hunters are taken to Heaven, the glowing land across the seas. King Michael keeps Dean as leverage, guarded constantly by his loyal soldier Castiel. But Dean's influence and Michael's erratic behaviour begins to stir doubt in Castiel's mind and with Lucifer making dangerous plans of his own, disobedience might be the only way to save the Hunters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunting for Salvation

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to angrydumpling for the art! I was lucky this year! :D  
> Art link: http://angrydumpling.livejournal.com/1857.html

The Look-Out was a crumbling tower of grey stone situated on the highest mountain in Earth-Country. It had been erected by long-dead Hunter Kings who knew the view from its windows would be the closest they ever came to omniscience. The days of regal glory were long gone, though. No living Hunter could remember the Look-Out as anything but a handy vantage point, a pile of rubble from which they could spy on the movements of their enemies miles away. There had been talks of rebuilding and refitting the place beyond the meagre work needed to keep it upright, but in the end that had come to nothing. The Hunters always had other priorities. Staying alive, for example.

Still Rufus Turner had found time to scale the mountain that day. He had set off early with the Clan-Mother’s blessing and an entire cart of supplies and survival equipment. In his younger days he had made the trip on foot. Now he was nearly getting too damn old to make it by horse. The Harvelle ladies had offered to make the trek up to the Look-Out, but Rufus had insisted on going. It had been too long since he’d seen Bobby Singer and it wasn’t like the grouchy old bastard would be dragging himself back down to civilisation any time soon.

His first thought upon reaching the Look-Out was that the ivy had probably already eaten the old man. The tower was really falling to pieces and the plants were taking advantage of it, crawling over it like worms on a corpse. Still, the walls stood mostly intact and the doors were still strong, so Rufus wasn’t too worried. He hammered his fist against the oak and then began pushing the double-doors open. It wasn’t easy with the weight of them dragging across the stone floor and the rusty hinges didn’t help.

Once the door was open enough to admit a person, if not the cart, the click of a gun drew Rufus’ attention. His head jerked up immediately and he saw Bobby at the end of the short stone corridor, his gun pointed around the corner with most of his body behind the safety of the wall. Rufus rolled his eyes.

“It’s me, you damn hermit! I’m trying to get this damn door open enough to bring you your dinner. And you’d better believe I ain’t keen on this home-help shit.” As Bobby rested the gun in his lap, Rufus managed to shove the doors open the rest of the way.

“I got food in,” Bobby sniffed as Rufus began lifting boxes off of the cart and carrying them through to the larder. “I never asked for nothin’.”

Stubborn bastard, that’s what he was. “And look what it’s got you. Something for nothing. Well done.”

Bobby scowled from his chair as Rufus stocked up the cupboards. Although they had managed to fix some load-bearing wheels to the chair, it was an inelegant and clumsy solution to Bobby’s physical impairment. Perhaps when they had the time and resources they would be able to make him something smoother.

“I assume food supplies are fine down in the Clan?” Bobby asked. Always worrying about the others. He’d starve up here before asking them for anything.

“Good harvest this year and the kids are catching bigger game every day. Clan’s fine, Bobby. You could see for yourself if you’d get in the damn cart.”

Predictably, Bobby wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “Nah. I’m better off up here, guarding the books of lore and watching the lands for Demon scum.”

Rufus sighed. “War ended months ago, Bobby. Almost a year, in fact.” He closed the crooked wooden cupboards. Bobby would have enough food for the next season at least. 

“Doesn’t stop the slimy bastards trying to slip through our defences though, does it? It only takes one possessed Hunter to destroy the Clan in its sleep. Trust me, I know better than anybody.”

“You didn’t hurt anyone!” Rufus snapped, finally sick of the melodrama. “Damn it Bobby, you’re a veteran. You’re better than this, moping around up here on your own, drinking and reading and spying on the Demons like a nosy neighbour.”

“And what good would I be down there?” Bobby asked, fury still in his eyes. But it wasn’t fury at Rufus. No, it was his anger at this situation, at having the strength to do the right thing and losing his mobility as a result. Of course he was angry. It wasn’t fair. But there were better ways to handle it.

“You’re a damn hero, Bobby. There ain’t a person in the Clan who’d argue otherwise. You deserve to be down there with everyone else, not cooped up in here waiting for another invasion that might not even happen in your lifetime.”

“It will,” Bobby said darkly as he turned his chair away with some difficulty. “It always does. Those Demons won’t rest until we’re all dead. And they’ll start with Dean. That’s what they wanted, that’s why they chose me.”

“But they failed!”

“They almost didn’t! I almost drove a knife right into him!” Bobby stopped shouting and sighed. “I can’t take that risk again, be it me or someone else. Someone has to watch our borders and guard the lore for when Dean needs it. Might as well be me. I sure ain’t farming or catching game anytime soon.” 

“The boys miss you,” Rufus said quietly, watching his friend shuffle ancient books along the shelf pointlessly. “Everyone does. You know John doesn’t listen to anyone anymore and Dean could really use your guidance with all his new duties.”

“New?” Bobby asked, finally giving up on the charade and rocking his chair around until he was facing Rufus again. “Mary’s been dead for years now and she had the forethought to teach that boy everything she knew. Dean might be an… _unconventional_ person for the role, but so far he’s done a fine job. It’s his brother I’m worried about.”

“Sam’s got time to grow up,” Rufus reassured him confidently. He stepped out of the larder and leaned back against the stone wall, brushing the dust from the road off of his clothes. “It’s only because he and John are butting heads that it seems…”

Bobby held up a hand. “Wait. Shut up a second.” The older Hunter was staring intently at a red glass vase on the messy table of his study. Although it held no flowers, a water line could be seen dimly through the glass.

It was bubbling.

“What is that?” Rufus asked warily, already edging his way back towards the door. He had left his gun on the cart.

“I was practising warding and scrying combos. I wanted more spells that would help us watch out for invasion.”

Bobby grabbed the large wheels of his chair and began shoving at them quickly in an attempt to get over to the large open window. Rufus grabbed the back of the chair and pushed him, despite knowing how much Bobby hated it. No time to coddle. The older Hunter didn’t comment, just grabbed the telescope propped up against the windowsill and peered out across Earth-Country. What he saw made his grizzled features contort with horror.

“Invasion!”

“The Demons are back?” Already Rufus felt ten times the fool. A Hunter’s paranoia ought to be his best friend and in the last few months he had been letting his slide. They had all become a little complacent in peacetime. 

“I don’t know how they’d have passed the wards. The invaders are already coming down from the Grand Mountains! Their teleportation is like nothing I’ve ever… Rufus, they’re headed straight for the Haven.”

“Fuck!” Rufus ran for the door. He was never going to make it down there in time to warn them. The whole Clan would be caught off-guard. They thought the wards were protecting them, thought they had driven the Demons back into hiding…

A man appeared in the open doorway just as Rufus reached it. He wore a breastplate forged of some shimmering silver metal, while across his shoulder and around his elbows there were guards of a sparkling reddish material that Rufus had never seen before. His pants were a loose, dark fabric clearly intended more for freedom of movement than defence. In his right hand, the man held a blade that shone brightly even in the shade of the Look-Out.

“Awfully sorry,” the man said in an accent that they had only ever heard on the haughtiest of Demons. “But I can’t let you go to their aid. Trust me, it’s already over. You never had a chance, you poor little apes.” The worst thing was that he genuinely seemed apologetic. It made Rufus want to brain the bastard. Luckily he had a chair to hand. He swung it hard at the invader.

It smashed to splinters over his head and he didn’t even blink.

“While I agree that chair was unsightly, I’m not entirely sure what you hoped to achieve there,” the man said amicably, though the pity had left his gaze. “Some of my colleagues would slaughter you for that. Count yourselves lucky that _my_ boss wants this to be a bloodless take-over.”

“Bloodless?” Bobby repeated. His tone of voice suggested that if he hadn’t been in his own home, he would have spat on the floor at the word. “Funny idea for a Demon.”

“Demons?” The man laughed, but then his blue eyes regained that infuriating look of pity. “Demons couldn’t have vaulted your wards like they were nothing. Demons couldn’t have attacked the heart of your land without navigating the body of it. Demons can be killed. I am no Demon, and neither are the warriors currently cutting down your people.”

“What are you then?” Rufus demanded to know. He’d be damned if he would die at the hands of an unknown entity. “You some other creature from Hell? Some bizarre monster from the Purgatory Isle?”

“My _name_ is Balthazar. And I am an Angel.”

“Balls,” whispered Bobby.

*

Michael watched his beautiful brothers and sisters spill across Earth-Country like a wave of righteous fury. The Hunters were rising up in small pockets of resistance but their efforts came too late. They were not a people built for direct warfare. When the Demons attacked, the Hunters had used their knowledge of the land to stage an impressive guerrilla assault. Their camouflaged tunics and headgear would serve no purpose against an enemy that knew their location and while their boots were hardy, the leather on their legs would not withstand the slice of an Angel’s blade.

Hopefully they would realise they were outmatched before too many of them were killed. After all, their firearms would not work and neither would their swords. It was not Michael’s intention to destroy them today, but his concept of ‘acceptable loss’ was probably very different to that of the Hunters. 

He flew down to the force currently sweeping through the area called ‘Haven’ by the uncivilised creatures. The similarity of that moniker to the name of the Angel kingdom could only be a good omen. While many of his Angels would be handling the isolated groups and the guards on the outskirts, this was where the most pivotal combat would take place. Although the Hunters were mostly nomadic, there were many places in their land which they returned to over and over. Of all those places ‘Haven’ was clearly the favourite, though Michael could not see the appeal. It was dry and dusty, practically a desert. Aside from being flat enough for their numerous tents and huts, there seemed to be little benefit to the place. 

It was mostly aflame now. All the better to scare the creatures out of their temporary homes. Some of the warriors were working on evacuating the children and the infirm. Michael told his Angels to allow them past for now. Let them think they were safe, leave them to get out of the crossfire. The stragglers would be collected later. 

A man launched himself at Michael with a furious yell but in his youthfulness he sounded more like a mewling cat. Just as Michael drew his sword to deflect the uncoordinated attack, a fellow blade slid in and knocked the Hunter away before whirling around and slitting the young man’s throat. Michael smiled fondly at his would-be rescuer as the blood splashed onto the red crystals in their armour.

“Castiel. You know I can handle a Hunter of less than twenty years age.”

The lesser Angel nodded, holding his blade down at his side as he looked to the ground in deference. “Of course. I didn’t think otherwise.”

“You just wanted to show off how fast you had become since our last tussle.”

Castiel’s brow wrinkled in uncomfortable disagreement as he stared down at the dead body of the youth. The younger Angel had always been awkward, no matter how many times Michael gave him permission to speak his mind.

“I take no pleasure in this. It is necessary, nothing more.”

“Good. Sadism doesn’t suit us. Speaking of which,” he added in a low murmur that was almost inaudible over the sounds of futile gunfire, “Where is my brother?”

“He sought the Clan-Father, John Winchester. Perhaps he has found him and begun negotiations.”

Michael narrowed his eyes but suppressed the rest of his anger. Wrath was a sin, one his brother endlessly sought to provoke within him. Of _course_ Lucifer sought the Clan-Father. The ruling family were the only targets Michael had demanded for himself.

The King of all Angels took to the sky, soaring above the battlefield until he saw his brother. Of course, ‘battlefield’ was probably not the correct term as it implied a fight more equal than this. The Hunters were being slaughtered. The sooner Michael could speak with John Winchester about their surrender, the sooner this bloodshed could end. Unfortunately, the Clan-Father was currently involved in a fight to the death with none other than the Morningstar, Lucifer.

Michael landed heavily, his boots shaking the ground. The sweep of his wings sent his brother stumbling backwards. Much to his amusement, John Winchester took advantage of the distraction to disarm Lucifer and wield his sword. Despite his rough and tired appearance, he was a strong man and a well-trained warrior. Michael could respect that, but he could not let the man kill an Archangel. 

He stepped forward and met the Clan-Father’s stolen blade with his own. The swords screamed, not made to clash with one another. As they battled, Lucifer slipped out of their way. Michael dodged and lunged, enjoying the combat practise with someone who fought so differently. The Hunters would bring much variety to the Angelic Court.

“I am Michael,” he said between swipes, “King of the Angels.”

“What do you want?” John Winchester snarled before rolling away from a quick sword jab.

“Your immediate surrender. We are taking your land. We are taking your people. You are forsaken. This is a mercy.”

“We’re doing just fine, you sanctimonious piece of shit,” John Winchester responded before switching to a more aggressive fighting technique. His boots kicked up a cloud of dust at his heels as he pressed forward. He actually managed to slice into Michael’s cheek, drawing a thick line of blood.

That was enough frivolity. Michael disarmed his opponent and put his foot forward into the Clan-Father’s knee, drawing a scream of pain from the man as it shattered under Angelic strength. As John Winchester fell, Michael caught him by his jaw and held him in place with one hand. “Surrender.”

“Never. If you bleed, we can kill you.”

Michael narrowed his eyes and applied a little more pressure to the man’s jaw. It creaked beneath his fingers and thumb, but did not yet snap. “Do not be foolish. It is not merely your life that you are wagering. What of your people? What of your sons? Your Clan-Mother?”

The Hunter leader grunted, but his jaw was held too tightly for him to form a coherent response. Michael unhanded him and watched impassively as the man fell bodily onto the dirt. After writhing in pain from his jarred knee, John Winchester squinted up through the sun at Michael.

“You won’t defeat us.”

“You’re already defeated. We merely seek to collect our prizes with as little commotion as possible. Tell your people to stand down or they will be executed.”

John Winchester sneered. His lip bled, possibly due to a wound sustained in his fight against Lucifer. It stained some of his teeth red. Between that and the heavy furs that marked him as the Clan-Father, he appeared the archetype of a feral barbarian. 

“Never. I’d rather see my people die free than watch them languish in your dungeons.”

Michael lifted his right foot and placed the sole of his shoe against the Clan-Father’s neck. It would snap like a twig if he were to simply push down. John Winchester simply glared at him, his fear entirely eclipsed by his loathing. The moment seemed to last an eternity while the battle raged on around them, as Michael considered whether this was a fitting end for the leader of the Hunters.

He withdrew his foot and placed it back on the dusty ground. If it was to be an execution, it ought to be performed with ceremony. John Winchester was not some anonymous Hunter to be killed and then forgotten. He was important to the Hunters. There was only one member of their Clan that held more value.

“Where is Mary Winchester?”

John laughed, blood dribbling out of the side of his mouth. He was paling and it was clear that his leg injury was causing him more pain than he was willing to show. 

“You bastards don’t keep your intel up to date, do you? Mary’s long gone. And for the first time since her death, I can say I’m glad. Seeing this would have broken her heart.” 

Michael did not care for the death of a Hunter, no matter how valued they were by their people. The loss of the Clan-Mother, however, was a troubling loss of leverage. But the Hunters were bound to their habits and rituals. They would surely have appointed a new figure in the role.

“Who is your current Clan-Mother?”

“Go fuck yourself,” John Winchester said, spitting blood at Michael’s feet. Unbecoming behaviour for a leader of an entire race.

“Castiel.” Although the name was spoken quietly, Michael projected it across the battlefield into Castiel’s thoughts and immediately his little brother was beside him.

“You called for me, my Lord?”

Ever subservient. Though most Angels obeyed, Castiel elevated obedience to an art. That was one thing Michael liked about him. “I did. You have studied Hunter culture most thoroughly. In the event of the Clan-Mother’s demise, who is eligible as her replacement?”

Castiel tilted his head to the side as he gave the question thought. “It would be a title passed down through the family. A daughter would be the first choice.”

“He has two sons,” Michael stated, nodding towards the broken figure on the ground.

“Then one of their mates. Or wives, as they would say.”

Michael nudged John Winchester’s shattered knee with the toe of his shoe, making the man howl in pain. “Do your sons have wives, Clan-Father?”

“I told you…” John Winchester paused to gasp in pained breaths. “Go fuck yourself.”

Castiel’s eyes widened at such bold disrespect towards the Holy King. But it was good that he learned what filth the Hunters were. He and his kin would soon realise how important this mission was. The Hunters needed to be saved from themselves, no matter how reluctant they were to listen.

Across the busy battlefield, Michael met Lucifer’s gaze. Though nothing was said and no thoughts were projected, the Morningstar nodded. As a small gang of Hunters ran past, presumably fleeing for their lives, Lucifer threw his hand out and dragged one back. Its fellows panicked and raised their weapons to attack but Michael raised a hand and knocked them flying backwards, weapons and all. Lucifer snatched the gun from the hands of the human he held and pushed the barrel to their throat. 

“Do the Winchester boys have wives?”

The young Hunter quaked in fear and shook his head frantically. “I don’t… I don’t even know what you’re asking me!”

“It’s a simple question,” Lucifer said coolly, dragging the gun up and down the boy’s neck, knocking aside the green cloth that hung over the lower half of his face. “Do either of the Winchester boys have a wife?”

“I…uh…” The Hunter looked over to the Clan-Father, anxiously seeking guidance. But John Winchester merely shrugged. When he spoke it was through pained gasps.

“Answer if you want, Andy. Nobody will blame you.”

Andy continued to panic until Lucifer jabbed the gun into his skin with enough force to bruise. Once the boy had finished choking, he relented and told them what they needed to know.

“Sam Winchester, the younger one, he has a wife called Jess.”

Michael nodded to his brother in acknowledgement. “Let him go. Find this Jess. Bring her to me. We’ll see how resolute Hunters are when their Clan-Mother cowers under my blade.”

On the floor, in the progress of crawling over to the Clan-Father, Andy paused and looked up with confusion. “But…”

John Winchester groaned in his loudest demonstration of pain so far. Andy ceased speaking and moved to examine the fallen man.

“Castiel, watch over the Clan-Father while I seek out the other members of Hunter royalty,” Michael commanded, lending scorn to the last word. These Hunters were nothing but a pathetic rabble. They had the potential to be so much more. 

Behind him, Andy whispered to John Winchester. Clearly the Hunter was unaware that an Angel could hear the fall of a needle in a crowded banquet hall. “We got word to him, sir. He should already be out of Haven.”

Michael had no time to investigate who ‘he’ might be, but given the sigh of relief breathed through the Clan-Father’s lips, it would certainly be worth looking into later. After all, his victory had to be absolute, or it would be no victory at all.

*

It was an average day in the camp when the invasion happened. Since the last big battle against the Demons, life had slowed down a little in Earth-Country. They kept the borders patrolled, kept the wards up and ensured the ammo was stocked, but the worst threats they saw were creatures from the Purgatory Isle, easily slain through the methods passed down by Dean’s mother. 

So on a day like any other, Dean hummed to himself as he blessed jugs of holy water in his tent. Although he was privileged to receive a larger living space than other people in the Clan, he found most of it was taken up with the tools of the trade. Buckets of water were brought in from the well to be purified and then Dean would give them to the Clan to be stored until they were needed. With the Demons keeping their distance, the Hunters were building up quite a supply. The same could be said for the silver bullets and other assorted special ammunition. When they were next attacked (Dean was not naïve enough to think peace was eternal), they would be more than ready.

Or so he thought.

When the screams rang out in the camp, Dean immediately stopped what he was doing and grabbed the Demon-killing knife. They had snatched it from an enemy scout back in the war. It was the only blade of its kind that they knew of, although they had found a gun that possessed the same power. As he stood, Dean’s legs tangled in the white robe he had dropped around his ankles. He snarled at the thin cloth as he pulled it away and tossed it aside. Ritual necessitated he wear the stupid thing and it always got in his way. 

As he moved to the tent flap he threw aside his red scarf as well. The sound of the baubles clattering on the ground was drowned out by the sudden burst of gunfire outside. Warily, Dean leaned his head out of the tent’s entrance and looked around. 

His first thought was that he was seeing a well-armed and trained Demon army, but he dismissed that idea very quickly. Demons couldn’t organise that well no matter what motivation they were given. Their current King might be more pragmatic than their old Queen, but Dean seriously doubted there was a Demon alive that could turn the race into such an orderly military force. Not to mention that these creatures fought and dressed in a completely different style. They were something new.

Realising he had to take action, Dean ducked back inside his tent and hurried to the big wooden chest at the end of his bed. Just as he was about to lift the heavy lid, someone burst into his tent. Dean spun around with his knife at the ready, but it was just Andy and Ava, looking frantic.

“You have to go!” The girl cried out immediately, her camouflaged mask dangling from one side of her face as if she had been too hurried to fasten it properly. “The attackers, they’re not Demons!”

“Then what are they?”

“Nobody knows!” Andy replied, throwing his arms up in a panic. “Our weapons don’t hurt them! They’re unstoppable!”

“Nothing’s unstoppable.” His Dad taught him that. Dean went back to rummaging in the chest. The container wasn’t too big, so he quickly found what he was looking for. His camo tunic, headgear and leathers. Proper Hunter clothes, much better than the stupid skimpy red cloth vest and shorts he had been wearing under the robe.

Ava scooped the discarded white fabric up off of the floor and grabbed the red scarf. There was enough of a lull in the chaos outside that Dean could hear the obnoxious tinkling sound of the baubles on the end. “Come on, get dressed and let’s go!”

“I _am_ getting dressed,” Dean said firmly as he pulled the leather leggings over his thighs. Might have been easier to remove the dumbass shorts first, but he didn’t have the time.

“Whoa, hang on,” Andy raised his hands in a ‘stay back’ gesture. “What are you doing? Those are normal clothes. Ava’s got your stuff.”

Dean shrugged. “If Ava cares so much she can hold it for me. I’m not going out on a battlefield in that robe.”

“You’re not going out on the battlefield at all!” Ava cried out. “You’re Clan-Mother! We need you!”

“Exactly.” Dean’s voice was muffled as he pulled the tunic over the red vest, but he kept talking anyway. “My people are dying out there. I’m not running.”

Ava sighed from the bottom of her lungs. “Dean, please. They’d happily die for you. Get on your horse and go. If we lose you, we’ve lost it all. Go join up with the evacuees, there must be bands of them all over the place by now.”

He ignored her, twisting his head-covering straight and clipping the mask across the lower half of his face. “I’m going to find my Dad and I’m going to check on Sam. I advise you guys find others and get out of here.”

Andy ran his hands through his hair as if trying to clutch at his skull. “I literally cannot believe what I am hearing right now. The _Clan-Mother_ is going to war.”

“I’ve done it before,” Dean pointed out angrily as he sat on his fur-covered bed and tried to yank the boots onto his bare feet as quickly as possible. Outside the fighting continued. He needed to get out there.

“That was different, that was _Demons_. Not to mention they were minor skirmishes. This is… Dean, this is a massacre. It’s not even a fight.”

Dean stood and grabbed his Demon-killing knife from the floor. He turned to look at their anxious faces and felt a pang of guilt set in. They only wanted to protect him, just like the rest of the Clan. One of the reasons he regretted taking the position of Clan-Mother. He sighed. “Oh, alright. I’ll get up to the Look-Out, make contact with Bobby. But you guys stay safe, okay?” The least he could do was give them some peace of mind.

With matching expressions of relief, Andy and Ava nodded enthusiastically, Ava wringing his useless, red ritual scarf in her dainty hands.

“We’ll round up some of the others and see if we can get the injured to safety,” Ava said. She rushed out of the tent, pulling Andy along behind her. She was still carrying his stupid robe and scarf, but the pair had disappeared into the fighting crowd before Dean could call after them. He had more important things to worry about anyway. Sam, Dad, the rest of the clan. In that order.

Andy was right in saying their attackers seemed unstoppable. Bullets and blades seemed to do nothing for the Hunters who were fighting. The monsters didn’t seem intent on outright slaughter though, which was currently the only silver lining in a rather heavy black cloud. They were disarming and incapacitating everyone in the camp like it was child’s play. Dean couldn’t see Sam anywhere and it made him panic for a moment, but then he remembered that his brother had been out on a food hunt this morning. He might return later to find Haven in ruins, the camp burned to the ground.

To his right, Victor Henricksen was struggling to hold his own against one of the soldiers, so Dean lunged in and rammed the demon-killing knife in through its back where the heart should have been. The dark-haired man-like creature simply paused for a second, completely still. Then it turned to look at Dean and narrowed its eyes. It threw Henricksen aside as though the man weighed nothing, then backhanded Dean so hard his vision went wonky as he fell to the ground.

Noticing that their attackers wore no lower-body armour, Dean saw an opportunity and slammed his heel into the enemy’s groin. It was like kicking a mountain. “What the fuck _are_ you?” Dean asked, wincing at the shockwave of discomfort that ran through his leg even after the initial impact. 

“We are Angels,” the man replied as he loomed threateningly over Dean.

“Well looks like you dropped something, Angel,” Henricksen said from behind it before slamming the creature’s own sword into its back. The shining blade sank in right next to Dean’s knife, but this one had a much more dramatic impact. The Angel screamed out, light shining from its eyes and then seemingly from every pore in its skin. It exploded with such searing light and sound that Dean and Henricksen scrunched their eyes shut and clamped their hands down over their ears. When it was all over, the body fell to the floor just like an ordinary corpse. 

Henricksen prodded it with his boot before holding out a hand to pull Dean to his feet. “You think it’s really an Angel? Didn’t know they were real.”

“I’ve read some ancient lore about them, but I figured… I don’t know, I never really thought about it. There’s a lot of stuff in those old books that seemed far-fetched.” Looking around at the camp though, it was easy to see similarities between the invading force and the supposedly-benevolent creatures in his mother’s old books. 

“It’s hitting pretty close to home right now,” Henricksen pointed out, obviously having the same thought. “You ever read up on how to kill these bastards? We know these work...” He waved the shining sword he had stolen, “But something tells me they won’t all hand them over so easily.”

Dean tugged his camo head-covering and mask back into place. “I don’t know, I think there are some sigils… banishments and wards and stuff. It’ll all be in Bobby’s books.” He looked up at the old Look-Out, which loomed in the distance. “It’ll take too long to get there.” Haven would be destroyed by the time they returned.

“Not to mention the route between here and there will be full of these Angels. We can’t afford to risk you on that.”

All around them Hunters were being cut down and Henricksen still dared to try and protect him. “For fuck’s sake Victor, I am _not_ sitting this out!”

Henricksen grabbed Dean’s shoulder in one hand and shook him. “Don’t be an idiot, Dean. Our way of life depends on you. Your mother invested all she knew in you. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you haven’t had much time to impart your knowledge onto Jessica Moore, have you?”

“She knows a bit,” Dean argued, sullenly. It wasn’t like he had ever wanted to become Clan-Mother. There just hadn’t been a choice. He could have been in line to be Clan-Father. He could have been out there right now, fighting for his people. Instead he was guarded like some sort of precious gem. It seemed like such a waste.

“You’re worth more than a blade or bullet,” Henricksen continued. “If they get their hands on you, we’re lost. You _know_ that, so will you stop being so stubborn and get to safety? I think if you dart around the back of your tent you should be able to slip through the battle and get over to the cover of the woods. Don’t take Impala, of course.”

“Aw, what?”

“I know she’s your loyal steed, but a horse would only draw attention to you. Just go on foot, up to the woods. From there…”

“Head up into the Grand Mountains,” Dean guessed without enthusiasm, eyeing the outline of them where they bordered Haven. Running to save their culture while the people who celebrated it died. Yeah, that made sense.

“I’m gonna see what I can do here then if things get bleak I’ll make a run for the Look-Out, see if I can find anything to help us against our attackers. You get out of here, understand?”

Dean sighed. “Victor...”

Nearby, two Angels finished shoving a dozen hunters to the ground. They noticed Victor and Dean and began advancing towards them with the fast, purposeful strides that their species seemed to favour. 

“Go!” Henriksen shouted and Dean knew there was no time to debate it. He turned and ran, feeling more like a coward with every step. He darted around behind his tent and kept running through the combat, dodging around Angels and fallen Hunters. Even though Dean knew the eyes of his Clan held nothing but concern for him, he still felt guilt every time he caught someone’s gaze. He couldn’t just leave them, he was a trained warrior for fuck’s sake!

He was almost at the trees when he gave into the masochistic urge to look back at Haven. In all the years of fighting Demons he had never seen destruction to this extent. Smoke billowed into the sky from the fiery tents and Hunters were being lined up on their knees towards the centre of the camp. The Angels seemed to want as many prisoners as possible. Were they here to take slaves? Was that why they were destroying the Hunter way of life?

An Angel emerged from the tent that was the nearest to the trees. As it stepped out, it dragged a woman along behind using a hand tangled in her long, blonde hair. Jess. The next in line to be Clan-Mother. Sammy’s wife.

Without thinking, Dean ran back towards camp, wielding his ineffective demon-slaying blade. He had initially been raised as a warrior, despite his mother’s concerns. He had been intended as the next Clan-Father. He couldn’t run away while his Clan were in danger. He could never forgive himself if Sam lost Jess because Dean had kept on running. 

For a second, Dean was utterly convinced he would take the Angel by surprise. It was facing away from him and though it didn’t struggle to hold Jess, it had to be distracted by the way she scratched and kicked. Dean sprinted down the slight hill, across the grass, and lunged.

The Angel grabbed him in mid-air like he was a doll and flung him aside just as easily. His head cracked against one of the old trees and though he heard Jess scream his name, he was unable to reassure her he was fine. Dizziness made it impossible to stand or even see straight as the Angel stalked towards him, still dragging Jess along the dirt.

“Two Winchesters for the price of one,” the sandy-haired Angel said with mild amusement. “My brother _will_ be pleased.”

“You let her go, you son of a bitch,” Dean snarled, trying unsuccessfully to push himself upright. He made it to his hands and knees before he had to pause to keep his dinner down. Definite concussion. Fantastic. “Take me and let her go.”

“Dean, don’t be stupid!” Jess snapped sternly. “Think of the Clan!”

It was only now that she had stopped thrashing around in the Angel’s grasp that Dean could see she had a black eye and he felt a new level of hatred for these bastards. “I’m thinking of what Sam will do if he comes back to find they’ve hurt you.”

“And what about when he comes back and finds they’ve hurt _you_?” Jess argued.

“Children, please,” the Angel said in a faux-parental tone. “No arguing. You’re both going to get hurt. Well…” he yanked on Jess’ hair, pulling her up further on her knees. As Dean’s protégé she also wore a white robe, but the apprentice’s robe was shorter and exposed her bloodied knees to the dirt and small stones in the ground. “…Our little Clan-Mother here might be hurt more for leverage.”

“She’s not…”

“Screw you!” Jessica yelled up at the Angel, spitting at him. Clearly she didn’t want Dean to expose the truth and endanger himself, even though her distraction led to the Angel smacking her back down to the ground and bruising her other eye. 

Shoving forward was difficult with his balance so impaired, but Dean gave it a shot anyway, pushing himself up from the ground and lunging. The Angel grabbed him by the arm and with a quick movement twisted the limb up behind Dean’s back painfully. The tension increased, his muscle pulled more and more taut, the bone bent further and further out of place…

He heard the snap even through his scream.

A heavy branch smashed over the Angel’s head, but it didn’t seem to faze him at all. The creature just smiled down at Jess, who stood there staring stunned at the splintered remains of tree in her hands. 

“I think we’ve all had a turn at violence now, haven’t we? Unfortunately the game has to end sometime. Let’s get you both home.”

The Angel grabbed Jessica’s upper arm and Dean’s broken one. Dean’s pained sounds were interrupted by a strange sensation not totally unlike having the air punched from his lungs. When he opened his eyes, he was on the dusty floor of Haven, Jess beside him. The sky was filled with smoke and his arm felt like it had been torn to shreds.

“Your arm,” Jess murmured with alarm. Dean barely heard her over the outraged and terrified yells of the captured Clan. All around them knelt their fellow Hunters. Dean tried not to meet their eyes. He’d let them all down. 

Across the camp, his Dad was watching him with disappointment. Dean swallowed thickly. It was bound to happen. Dean was never meant for this. At least their Clan-Father was still in one piece, if nothing else. Andy was tending to his wounds while a blue-eyed Angel stood over them staring intently at Dean. Unblinking.

“We need to fix this quickly,” Jess muttered, drawing Dean’s attention back to the fire he had instead of a right arm. He’d been trying not to look at it, already sweating from the pain, but it was unavoidable. He now saw the bone had pierced the skin halfway up the limb. It was stomach-turning and he looked away fast.

“Yeah, that’s not good,” he gasped, trying to convey his usual nonchalance. It was times like this that his Clan desperately needed him to stay calm. “I’m looking at serious infection if we don’t get that cleaned, set and stitched.” He was actually losing the feeling in his fingers now, which was never a good sign, but he kept the panic internal. He’d been injured before, he could handle the pain.

The dick Angel who had dumped them there strode over to his blue-eyed associate. “Where’s Michael? I have the toys he was looking for.”

Even though the haze of pain-induced delirium, Dean could see the disapproval in the smaller Angel’s face when he replied.

“He should be returning shortly with the other Winchester. Then negotiations can proceed as planned.” Blue eyes looked over Psycho’s shoulder at Dean and Jess. “Lucifer, you hurt the Clan-Mother.”

“Don’t sound so scandalised Castiel, she’s _their_ living saint, not ours. Besides, Michael wanted to exert Angelic dominance. Brutality is the only message these vermin will understand.”

The one called Castiel opened his mouth as if he had something to say about that, but the sudden arrival of another Angel stopped their conversation. This Angel was stern-faced with dark hair, but Dean’s eyes barely alighted on him when he realised who was at the Angel’s feet.

“Sam!”

At the sound of Dean’s voice, his younger brother’s head jolted up. Sam had clearly been on the receiving end of an Angelic beat-down, judging from the bruises and cuts on his face. Although Sam was the biggest, most physically-intimidating warrior of the Hunters, he looked like a lost little boy as soon as he realised his big brother had been captured and injured. Noticing the terrible damage to Dean’s arm, Sam surged up to lash out at the nearest Angel, but his rebellion was quickly crushed by a foot pressing down against his ribs, pinning him to the floor.

“If the Hunter royalty are done behaving like rabid dogs, we can begin,” said the Angel with his shoe on Sammy’s chest. “My name is Michael. I rule the Angel population of Heaven, the island across the sea to the West. And despite our rather… complicated arrival today, I can assure you that we mean you no harm. We are here to save you.”

The derision that met his statement was booming as every Hunter expressed their disbelief and rage. Michael waited calmly for a moment then clicked his fingers. Although mouths continued to move, no sound came out. These Angels were ridiculously powerful. Dean might have felt more afraid if he’d been able to think clearly through the concussion and the blinding pain of his arm. Jess cradled the broken limb carefully but she couldn’t do anything to help, not while they were surrounded by these bastards.

“We understand you may be reluctant to listen to us,” Michael continued. “You are lost, confused and ignorant children who do not understand what is best. That is why we intend to supervise you, to bring you back to Heaven where you can learn the great lessons our Father gave us to bestow upon you all.”

He waved his hand. It must have ended his spell of silence, as Sam immediately spoke up from where he lay on the ground. “And what if we refuse?”

“You will be imprisoned in Heaven until you decide you are prepared to learn our ways and obey our laws,” Michael said firmly. “Should you attempt to rebel, your Clan-Mother will pay the price.”

The psychotic Angel responsible for snapping Dean’s arm produced a shining blade and shoved Jess’ white robe open so that he could press the weapon to her pale skin. Without thinking, Dean made a grab for the creature’s arm and was shoved away for his efforts. He bashed his injured arm against the ground and cried out in agony. The pain was almost enough to force him out of consciousness, but he fought the wooziness.

“This one is getting on my nerves,” the Angel said with cool displeasure, glaring down at Dean as the Hunter struggled back into a sitting position. “We can spare _one_ Winchester, can’t we Michael?”

Before Michael could even respond, the violent Angel raised the glowing sword to strike down at Dean.

“Wait!”

All eyes went to the protester. The blue-eyed Angel called Castiel, who was watching Dean closely.

“You’re commanding _me_?” Mr Psycho Angel scoffed, stepping away from Dean towards Castiel. “You, little cherub, are trying to command me, the Morningstar?” The taller Angel laughed heartily. “Michael, tell me you don’t value this servant of yours. I want to cut off his wings.”

“Be calm, Lucifer,” Michael regally instructed his brother. “Castiel, explain yourself.”

In response to that command, Castiel walked forward to stand between Lucifer and Dean. For a moment he simply stared down at Dean as if studying him intently. Then he tugged away the Hunter’s camouflaged headgear and threw it aside, exposing Dean’s hair and mouth. Next he hooked a finger inside the high collar of Dean’s green tunic and with a flick of the wrist, ripped the entire thing away, leaving Dean with only his red vest over the black leather pants.

“Well that _is_ an improvement,” drawled an Angel standing near Rufus and Bobby. Dean hadn’t noticed them there. “But I think I speak for most of us when I say I’m not following your logic, Cassie.”

“Red dyes are more difficult to process,” Castiel said. His voice was too low to be heard by any Hunters further away than Dean and Jess. He was still staring down at Dean with his inhumanly blue eyes and Dean was too tired and hurt to glare in return. “Red clothing would only be bestowed on Clan members with the highest value. Observe.”

Castiel produced his own Angelic blade and held it to Jess’ throat. The gasps of horror echoed all around Haven against a background of jabbering panic. Under Michael’s foot, Sam was swearing bloody vengeance. The Angel Castiel looked around at the Hunter crowd and nodded, as if they had proved a theory. Then that same blade was against Dean’s neck. The metal was cold but whatever power was behind it burned like the sun.

The Hunters _roared_ , unaware that they were being tested. Across the camp, John Winchester struggled to push himself up onto his broken leg. Castiel retracted his weapon and then it was like he had never held it at all. Dean hadn’t even seen him move to hide it.

“This is the Clan-Mother. Disguised like the others, presumably so that he might enter the fray and defend his home. The girl must be his protégé.”

Michael studied Dean with an intent gaze. There was something in the way this Angel carried himself that made him the obvious leader, even if he hadn’t announced it. He spoke and behaved like someone who expected to be obeyed. “His soul _is_ almost…unspeakably bright. Strange. I had not expected Hunters to show such potential, considering how _tainted_ some of them are.” He pressed down slightly with the foot that rested on Sam’s ribs. “That their spiritual leader is so pure only reinforces the need to re-educate them. They could be so much more than this.”

“We were happy, you son of a bitch,” Dean growled, reckless with pain. The numbness had spread up to his elbow now, but the pain had throbbed its way up through his shoulder and collarbone.

A few steps and Michael was within Dean’s personal space. It was effort just to lean his head back so that he could look up and see the bastard. There was something fond and condescending in the Angel’s expression now.

“Once you are with us, you will all truly understand what it means to be happy.”

Wounded or not, Dean had a hundred witty comebacks on the tip of his tongue. But as he was about to reel off a seriously biting ‘yo momma’ burn, the Angel reached out two fingers and placed them on his forehead.

Everything went dark. He heard Sam scream out.

*

Heaven was _bright_. When the Angels transported all the Hunters to the island with their magic, John Winchester had to squint just to be able to open his own eyes. Once he was able to raise his head, John saw his Clan were all blinking and scrunching their faces as well.

The Angel known as Michael appeared before him and placed his palm against John’s chest.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

John took a step back and realised that his leg could better support his weight, though it still hurt like a bitch. If Michael could heal it better, he didn’t seem inclined to. The leader of the Angels simply turned away and strode off ahead, further than John could see in this light.

It took a while for the eyes of the Hunters to become accustomed to the glare of their surroundings, but the Angels marched them onward regardless. For a long time, all John could see was his own boots stomping across an expansive stone and marble pathway that was interlaced with silver and occasionally, sparkling gemstones.

Once he was able to keep his eyes open for longer than a moment against the intense light, John looked around to examine the state of his Clan. They all marched behind him, some with minor injuries from the battle. Some were sullen, letting their expressive faces show exactly what they thought of their captors. His youngest son, Sam, was among that group. Others remained stoic, staring ahead with as much determination as they could muster in the blinding environment.

John blinked to try and clear his eyes of the water building up in them, a symptom of the bright surroundings. They had reached a sort of river, penned in and directed by the stone and marble pathway, but even that seemed to glow with an unnatural light that moved and glistened. John continued to look around as they were marched around the water, searching for his eldest son. That boss Angel had done something to him and captive or not, John would not rest until he found out if Dean was alright.

He was so absorbed in his task that he forgot about the delicate state of his own injuries and stumbled as they stepped from stone to grass. Luckily someone stepped in and took his weight, helping him stay on his feet.

“Easy there, Clan-Father.”

Really John recognised the voice before he even saw the face. “Oh, hey Jim.” Jim Murphy was an old friend and a learned man. He had proved invaluable in the manufacture of their weapons, back when the Demons had begun attacking again. John had barely been Clan-Father then and he’d needed all the help he could get. Some things never changed, even though Jim’s hair was much greyer these days than it was in John’s memory.

“You would have thought with all their fancy powers they could have transported us directly to wherever they want us,” Jim muttered.

“Maybe they want to show us the scenic route,” John grumbled back. He glanced around again, but still couldn’t see what he was looking for. “Have you seen Dean? That bastard did something to him.”

“One of the Angels is carrying him up ahead. He was still asleep from whatever spell they cast on him, but his arm seemed better. What I saw of it, at any rate.”

“Wish I could jump for joy at that,” John said under his breath. “But as long as Dean’s here, he’s in danger. They’re going to use him against us. I don’t even know what the bastards are after.”

“Expansion, maybe? Could be that they’ve outgrown their little island. Say what you like about Earth-Country weather, but we’ve got a lot of open space.”

“Then why keep us?” asked John as they continued to trek across the grass alongside weary Hunters and stern-faced Angels. “They could have just slaughtered us all.”

Jim shrugged, which nearly knocked John completely off-balance. “I honestly don’t understand their motivations. We have no way of knowing how they think. Perhaps it’s just as their leader said and this is some religious fight, an assault on our way of life because they find it offensive.”

“Our rituals have kept our people alive for centuries. I’d rather cut off my limbs than give up the culture passed down to us through the generations.”

“I agree with you. Anyone who tells me I can’t put a salt-line across my door is trying to get me killed, in my opinion. But I just worry that… well, how many of the Clan’s younger members feel the same?”

“They know how vital our beliefs are,” John insisted. “They all remember the war. Our sigils and wards and spells were the only things keeping the Demons from tearing us to pieces. Not to mention the tactics we use against the monsters from Purgatory. We won’t throw them away now just because we’re being threatened.”

The marching Angels up ahead slowed to regroup as they all approached the forest. For the first time since leaving Earth-Country, John saw his eldest boy. Dean looked ludicrously young when he wasn’t conscious and John’s stomach turned at the sight of his son so vulnerable, cradled in the arms of the enemy.

Jim obviously saw his fear. He kept his arm around John to steady him as they were led into the forest and asked, “What if it’s Dean they’re threatening? Then how will the Clan feel about our religion?”

John fell silent, because Jim didn’t need him to answer that. Dean was the Clan-Mother, the most popular one they had ever had. There was no sufficiently-trained heir. Without him, there _was_ no religion.

*

The Hunters did not assimilate well to their captivity in Heaven. They did not desire the salvation that the Angels offered them. They refused to renounce their superstition and blasphemy and they refused to recognise Michael’s rule. Just as Michael had threatened, they were all cast into the prisons of Heaven until they reconsidered their position.

All of them except for Dean Winchester. Michael said he wanted their most precious Clan member kept away from them. He wanted Dean Winchester’s fate to rest in his hands so that the Clan would not try anything hasty. Dean was kept in luxurious conditions, but the Clan had no way of knowing that. 

“Do you think he’ll let me visit them?”

Castiel frowned at the pale marble wall. Dean had begun his imprisonment mute and furious, refusing to respond to Michael’s imperious commands or Castiel’s concerned enquiries. As time went on however, the Hunter seemed to wish for conversation. Two weeks since the saving of the Hunter people and their subsequent imprisonment, Dean had decided to explore the lavish quarters he had been placed in. Another week later and the Clan-Mother seemed to spend most of his time in the bathing area, in the scented water. Apparently the water jets were quite unlike anything in the lakes of Earth-Country.

“I don’t know. I suppose if he feels he can trust you, Michael may be amenable to such an idea. But it’s preposterous to think I know his intentions, Dean. You would need to ask him.”

“At least look at me when you’re talking, dude.”

Reluctantly, Castiel shifted and stiffly turned around to face the pool. Dean was relaxing in the water, completely naked. It made sense that Dean would be nude to bathe, but Castiel was still unfamiliar enough with the concept that seeing Dean’s body was enough to discomfort him.

“Is it essential for me to face you while you are unclothed?”

Dean chuckled at that before swimming to the side and floating there a while. The short journey seemed to have no purpose but merriment. 

“What, you’ve never seen a naked guy before? I find it hard to believe you guys don’t share these pools. They’re massive.”

“We do not use the pools. Angels do not perspire as Hunters do and we are able to bathe ourselves in holy light, should the need arise.”

Castiel liked to explain these things to him. The more Dean knew of their culture, the more likely he was to embrace it. Once the Clan-Mother had turned to their ways, the Clan would surely follow. Dean was their spiritual leader, after all. A strange choice, but for all Castiel’s studies into Hunter culture he had yet to fully understand them. 

“So why are the pools even here?”

“They are a relic that Michael felt you might require. Left over from a time prior to our ascension. We were like you once, before our Father showed us the light.”

As usual, the talk of religion made Dean sneer. The Hunter still showed no tolerance for the Angel way of thinking. 

“If the light involves kidnapping an entire race of people and locking them up under the pretence that it’s all for their own good, I’d rather stay in the dark.”

Dean turned and swam away from Castiel, down the short length of the pool. The light shone down through the high windows, making his body glisten in the water and Castiel turned away. He had seen some of the prisoners naked when Uriel hosed them down, but they had not made him feel this way. It was a feeling as if he yearned to be closer to Dean, yet when he made attempts at it he suddenly felt as if he ought to flee. Was it Hunter spellcraft? Dean would be the one to know such tricks, if they were possible. 

“Can you at least tell me how they are? If they’re okay?”

Castiel could hear Dean splashing nearer than expected. When he turned back to the Hunter, Dean was climbing slowly up the marble steps, out of the pool. Something about the sight robbed Castiel of his words. No doubt about it, Dean Winchester held a mysterious power. Perhaps that was the reason he had been chosen for the role of Clan-Mother, not simple inheritance laws.

“It… it is not my place to say. Michael will tell you anything you need to know.”

“Like fuck he will. I’m his little princess in a tower here.”

Dean ducked and scooped his clothes up from the floor, the red cloth vest, shorts and the white robe and red scarf that they had retrieved from a member of his Clan. Castiel turned and lifted the other clothes from a hook on the door.

“Michael asked that I give you these to wear instead of your heathen clothes.” 

Curious, Dean dropped the garments he was holding and took the ones from Castiel’s arms. He shook them loose and laughed at the brown robe and the golden headband that fell and clanged loudly against the marble floor.

“Seriously? You can’t tell me Angels wear this crap.”

“Only our preachers and those who channel our Father’s word,” Castiel replied earnestly. “It is a great honour to be offered such attire. It proves that Michael believes you can be saved, that you have the potential to be one of our most holy.”

“No, it means he thinks he can change who I am on the inside by changing how I look on the outside.” Dean threw the robe into the pool, where the water quickly soaked into the fabric and dragged it down.

“Your Hunter clothing is indecent,” Castiel explained.

Dean put one leg into his shorts then the other before tugging the fabric up over his wet legs. Castiel found himself following the path of the red material as it smudged the droplets of scented water along Dean’s strong thighs.

“Hey, I’ll be the first to say it’s a shit outfit. I never stopped longing for the sturdy leather of regular Hunter combat gear.” Dean hesitated as he pulled the vest top on over his head. “But you know what? These clothes mark me as Clan-Mother and that’s what’s important right now. I’d rather go naked than wear the stuff Michael lays out for me like I’m his damn doll.”

He shrugged on the white robe and stormed out of the room barefoot. 

Castiel offered up a silent prayer to his Father and followed, wondering again what he had done to merit this trying duty from Michael.

*

Lucifer was no stranger to the wicked creatures that roamed the dominion of Hell. Considering some of the things he might have encountered, the Demons that attacked him were pitiful. He had expected better guards this close to the dirty castle that their King called his palace.

Without effort, Lucifer smote the Demons that dared attempt an assault on him and moved deeper into the dark forest that surrounded King Crowley's dwelling. He heard the howling of hellhounds nearby but ignored it. Such beasts were no threat to him. Nothing in this realm troubled him at all.

There was an open field of green grass after Lucifer emerged from the trees. He could see Crowley's castle looming over the landscape, dark and twisted. Compared to the rest of the trek, the clear route between here and the castle seemed slightly suspicious. He eyed the sky, but the smog of burning souls was still too thick for him to fly the rest of the way. No doubt that was the way Crowley preferred it. 

Stepping out into the clearing, Lucifer immediately found his suspicions confirmed as the innocent-looking grass cut at him like a dozen little blades around his foot. Clever. Had Lucifer been anything but an Angel, that might have slowed him down. Given his resilience though, it was really just a nuisance. Much like Crowley himself.

Nothing attacked him for the remainder of his walk, which made Lucifer suspect his company was expected. That or this was as far as any other denizens of the realm dared to go. Demons were all cowards, rallied against the things they feared only because they were more scared of the one commanding them. In a way, they reminded him of Angels. Insane and depraved Angels.

The grand doors of Crowley's castle shuddered open as Lucifer approached. Yes, he was definitely an expected guest. He walked into the stone hallway calmly, head held high. He wasn't sure yet if Crowley was trying to be intimidating or inviting. 

He could have ventured further in, down to the throne room or perhaps into one of the adjacent rooms to look for the King of Hell. But Lucifer wasn't about to go scurrying around searching for him, only to end up in some depraved scene of the Demon's choosing. If Crowley wanted to know his intent, he would have to get off his throne or stop his torture games and get out to greet his visitor. 

It didn't take long. Crowley emerged from the door on the right to a chorus of screams, which were muted when he slammed the heavy door shut behind him. He peeled off his gloves and tossed them aside, where they left bloody smears on the stone floor. Then he brushed his hands down his black, expensive suit and smiled at Lucifer.

“Lucy, darling, what brings you to my neck of the woods?”

“The usual check-ups. Michael wants to be sure you all stay in your place.” Every so often a representative was sent to Hell to ensure the Demons were not becoming a threat. Lucifer had been that representative for some time now. He told Michael he enjoyed the flight, but he wasn't sure his brother believed his excuse.

“Stay in our place?” Crowley echoed. “But there's such a lovely, vacant space down South. Expansive plains, a cute little lake, some nice forest land...”

“Earth-Country is not available to you.”

Crowley pouted at him, mockingly disappointed. “Come on now, it's not as though the Hunters are using it. You lot have had them trussed up in your dungeons for nearly three weeks. It's only fair we have a crack at their territory.”

“If it were up to me, your kind could swarm the place. But it's not up to me. It’s up to my brother and until someone has a force comparable to the might he wields, that isn’t going to change.”

With the way his left eyebrow quirked, it was safe to assume Crowley had figured out the real reason behind Lucifer’s visit.

“I hold a force comparable to your brother’s. Alas,” the King added theatrically, “there’s no _possible_ way I could infiltrate Heaven with it.”

“What if I were to suggest a way?” asked Lucifer, carefully watching the Demon for any signs of duplicity. Crowley was likely to sell him out to Michael if Lucifer could not provide ample motivation for a deal.

“Well, that would depend on the fine print of our contract.” One of the thick, wooden doors down the hall swung open and Crowley gestured down the hall towards it. “Care to step into my office?”

“After you,” Lucifer insisted. As if he would allow anyone to sneak along behind him, least of all a Demon.

Crowley strode on ahead and Lucifer followed him into the luxurious study. He settled into one of the chairs that seemed half-sculpture, what with the strange way the arms twisted. It was comfortable though, thanks to the plush red cushion.

The King of Demons poured himself a drink and offered Lucifer one with a silent wave of the bottle. Lucifer shook his head. He had never felt the appeal of such things. Crowley shrugged and brought his own glass to the desk as he sat down opposite Lucifer. He reached into the draw and pulled out a blank scroll.

“Straight to business then.”

*

When not clad in their battle-gear, the Angels looked absolutely ridiculous. In his captivity, Dean had examined them from the window as they wandered the courtyard. They had strangely patterned trousers under baggy, flowing shirts, with a high-collared robe that tied around the front using a sort of gaudy brooch. On their feet most of them seemed to wear boots with a slightly elevated heel. They completed the look with weird headbands of differing precious metals and gems. Dean was told by his guard, Castiel, that such garments were typical court wear for the Angels. Dean figured that when you were the most powerful race in the world nobody liked to say to your face that you looked like a moron.

Yet again Dean had chosen not to wear the clothes Michael had allocated to him. The clothes changed subtly from day to day, but there was always a restrictive, unflattering feel to them. The fabric was always rough and unpleasantly coloured. It was like Michael was trying to cover up his body and make him uninteresting. Dean wasn't going to be swayed on the issue. His clothes were symbolic of his place in the Clan. It would be an insult to his people to ditch them and they were suffering enough.

Castiel had outright pleaded with him to reconsider that evening. He had tried everything short of physical force to get Dean into the Angel holy clothes. They had been invited to dinner at the Royal Table. Castiel seemed stunned by the invitation, but Dean didn't give a shit. Captors were captors. All the Angels were the same to him. Even Castiel, who came across as harmless, was a knowing participant in the capture of the Hunters. None of them could be trusted. Dean didn't care if he ate at the Royal Table or out of the gutters of Heaven. They were all murderous bastards.

That evening, Castiel marched Dean down through the palace to the banquet hall. On the way, Dean kept an eye out for any Hunters or any doors that looked guarded. He was disappointed to see neither. Obviously he was being kept in the classy part of the palace, far away from his family. The guards that were wandering around seemed to be ceremonial. That or they did it for kicks. One of them had the task of opening the door to the banquet hall when people arrived. Dean nodded to him, but after a brief glance at the Hunter's clothes, the Angel ignored him and stared straight ahead.

“For your own safety Dean, I recommend you behave,” Castiel said sternly. “These are the most powerful Angels you will ever meet.”

Before Dean could say anything snappy, the door swung open and the bright light from within made him close his eyes. He blinked and squinted, but couldn’t focus. Castiel guided him inside.

“There he is,” said Michael's voice from somewhere ahead, slightly to Dean's left. The Angel sounded more jovial than Dean had heard so far. Perhaps dinner parties were his thing. “Our little prize. The spiritual leader of the Hunter people.”

“That's how they dress their spiritual leader?” This voice was higher-pitched, but still male. Somewhere to the right, as Castiel steered Dean left. Dean squinted but still wasn't able to make out more than a blur sat at a larger blur, which was most likely the table. “I like. Maybe we could learn something from them.”

A laugh, then another voice chimed in. It sounded familiar. “The robe makes him such a tease too, wouldn't you say? Underneath that flimsy white fabric we know there is a realm of smooth skin, obstructed only by scraps of red material. Scandalous.”

“Enough, both of you,” Michael said firmly. Castiel had moved Dean far enough into the room that Michael was now directly at his right. Close enough to touch, by the sounds of things. It was like being blind. Why did they need rooms this bright? “Castiel, I left more appropriate clothing for him.”

“He wouldn’t wear it, my Lord,” Castiel said quietly, his words rumbling past Dean’s ear. Dean couldn’t quite decide what it was about the way Castiel said it. Maybe it was the way the Angel’s hand tightened on his shoulder. Either way, Dean picked up on his nervousness. For the first time, he felt kind of bad about being so stubborn. Only kind of, though.

“A rebellious one,” mused someone that Dean had walked past already. Another familiar voice, but not someone he’d heard recently.

Dean felt like some sort of pet. No, a _conversation piece_. That was obviously why he had been brought here. Castiel was probably invited because he was the one keeping Dean on a leash all the time. Michael had only visited a few times early on, when Dean was still ready to hang himself to make a point. Once Dean had calmed down, Michael seemed too busy to drop by, though Castiel occasionally alluded to visits that occurred while Dean slept.

“Maybe we aren’t being firm enough with our commands,” said a deep voice.

“We?” Michael echoed, calmly. “I wasn’t aware you were in charge of his imprisonment, Uriel.”

“I…no, of course, my Lord. I spoke out of turn.”

“Don’t worry yourself. After all, this might be the last time you are invited to my celebratory feast. You should enjoy yourself.”

Something bumped against Dean’s knee, startling him. Castiel reached an arm past him and the sound of wood scraping along a surface clued Dean into the fact that it was probably a chair in front of him. 

“Is he okay?” asked the lighter voice from before.

“Oh, my apologies, Clan-Mother,” Michael said before the glare of the room dimmed to something far more manageable. “I forget that Hunter eyes are not capable of withstanding the brightness of our holy light.”

Now that he could see the ridiculously large room, Dean could count five guests already at the long table and one empty seat. Three of the guests he knew by name already. At his left, sitting up straight and playing the part of gracious host, was Michael. Across from the one remaining empty seat sat the posh guy who dropped by occasionally to flirt with Castiel. His name was Balthazar and now Dean saw him, he realised he’d been the one to call Dean a tease. Next to Balthazar, in the seat furthest from Michael, sat Lucifer. Although Dean liked to say all Angels were the same, he would happily recognise that Lucifer was more of a dick than the others.

Across from Lucifer sat a dark-skinned Angel that Dean had seen in the battle over Earth-Country. He had no idea what his name was though. Perhaps he was Uriel, if he was the dude Michael had reprimanded before.

In the seat directly opposite Michael sat a short Angel with golden hair and a smirk on his face for no apparent reason. Dean had never seen him before, but if the other was Uriel then this guy was the one who had asked if he was okay, which probably made him slightly less of a dick.

“Did you wish for Dean to be seated here?” Castiel asked, one hand on the back of the chair, the other on Dean’s back. Lucifer snorted with laughter.

Michael shook his head, a fond expression on his face. “Don’t be foolish Castiel. That seat is for you.”

Castiel frowned, looking around the table. Dean could see there were no more available chairs. “Then where will…”

“Dean can sit here,” interrupted Michael, pointing at the floor between his own seat and Castiel’s. The floor was clean to the point of shining, but it was still the damn floor. Dean’s jaw clenched at the insult.

Surprisingly, Castiel met his eyes with a look of apology. Then he looked away and sat in the chair chosen for him, though his awkward posture gave away how tense he was.

“You have been told where to sit, Hunter.” Yeah, that was confirmation of Dean’s assumption. Big guy at the end was Uriel. Dean scowled at him.

“He’s Clan-Mother, why would he settle on the floor?” said the short dude at the opposite corner from Uriel. “It’d be like Hunters snatching us from Heaven then making us sit in the dirt.” Okay, so Dean liked this one.

“It would be,” Michael agreed. “And if Hunters were capable of such a feat I’m sure we would already be on the ground. But that is not the way it has happened. Dean, _sit_.”

“Make me,” Dean snapped back before he could stop himself. He knew it was a dumb thing to say even before he heard Castiel’s gasp.

The scraping of Michael’s chair echoed loudly around the hall as the ‘Archangel’ stood. Dean took a quick glance around the room, but while Castiel, Balthazar and the unnamed one looked nervous, they didn’t seem like they were about to jump to his defence. Lucifer and Uriel just looked excited by the prospect of Dean being beaten.

Michael stepped forward until their noses almost touched. Angels had no personal space boundaries. Dean could have shoved at him, but he might as well try to shove the whole palace away. Instead he stood tensed in readiness for the pain that was sure to come.

But Michael just leaned in to whisper into his ear. “Disobey me again and I will have your father killed.” The King moved back and gestured to the floor again. “Sit.”

Dean had no option. Slowly, feeling nauseous from the humiliation, he lowered himself to his knees on the shiny wooden floor. He kept his eyes fixed on his own hands clasped in his lap. He didn’t want to see the Angels staring at him. 

“See?” Michael addressed his guests with a smile. “They can be taught! And this is one of their most stubborn. Imagine, if he’s…”

Commotion outside brought Michael’s speech to a halt. Guards could be heard yelling moments before there was a thud against the door. It happened again, like someone was trying to force their way in. 

“Now who could that be…” Michael mused. He raised a hand slightly and the door swung open, leaving the uninvited guest to stumble gracelessly into the room. 

“Dean?”

“Sammy?”

Three guards appeared directly behind Sam and grabbed him roughly, forcing him down into a sort of crouching position. Michael wandered over to inspect his unruly prisoner. He smiled at Sam and said, “I’m glad I didn’t have to resort to these measures to get your brother on his knees.” Dean’s cheeks burned with shame, not at the false insinuation, but at how he must have looked to Sam in that moment, clean and healthy, kneeling at the Angel’s table.

“You son-of-a-bitch!” Sam yelled, struggling against the Angels holding him in a futile effort to get at Michael.

“Do _not_ speak of our heavenly Father that way,” said Michael, manifesting his Angelic blade in his right hand. Dean began to rise from his place on the floor, but was pushed back down by Castiel’s hand on his shoulder. No matter how he tugged, Castiel’s arm wouldn’t budge. 

“Let him go, Michael, please,” Dean begged. “He was only trying to get to me! He’s my _brother_ , doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

At the end of the table, the Angel without a name looked uneasy. “Michael…” 

“Silence, Gabriel. You didn’t participate in their capture so you have no say in their treatment.”

“Please don’t hurt him,” Dean repeated. He wasn’t above begging. He wasn’t above anything, as far as Sam was concerned. He’d run over there and die trying to free him if Castiel would just let go of his fucking shoulder! “I’ll take his punishment!”

Michael turned his head slightly to look back at Dean. “A devoted brother indeed. But then I suppose you are brother and mother both, aren’t you? A strange duality your father has bestowed on you.”

“I’m begging you,” Dean said again, desperately.

“As my sister Anna begged your brother when he cut her down in the wretched forests of Earth-Country?” Michael asked, eyebrows raised.

Sam pulled again at his guards, enraged anew. “She attacked us! You all did! How many Hunters died down there because of your decision to force your religion onto us! All the Hunters that died, all the _Angels_ that died, that’s all your fault!”

In a blur of movement, Michael had his blade to Sam’s neck. Dean cried out with dismay, but still couldn’t dislodge Castiel’s grip which held him in place.

Now Lucifer stood. “Brother, if you don’t mind my saying, this isn’t conducive to your goals. Don’t we seek to teach these heathens? He won’t learn anything if he’s dead. I’m livid about the loss of sweet Anna too, which is why I propose you hand him over to me. I’ll be sure to impart your lessons with great force.”

After a moment of hesitation, Michael withdrew his blade from where it had drawn a thin line of blood along Sam’s throat. He smiled at Lucifer. “You may have a point. Very well, see what you can make of this one. I’ll leave him in your capable hands.”

But Dean wasn’t going to be so easily pacified. “And what will you do with him?” He asked Lucifer.

Lucifer didn’t respond, though Dean knew the Angel must have heard him. He nodded to the guards and gestured out of the door. Dean could only watch as his brother was dragged out of the room, calling his name. Once Lucifer was gone, the door slammed shut and Michael returned to his chair. Castiel’s grip eased slightly but his hand remained hovering over Dean’s shoulder, ready to grab the Hunter if Dean got any ideas about chasing after his brother.

“It seems we still have much to teach your kind,” Michael said with a sigh as he rearranged his napkin idly. “But this incident wasn’t without its perks. I’ve learned something too.” He smiled down at Dean and ran a hand through his hair, as if petting an animal. “I now know you will do _anything_ to ensure your family’s wellbeing.”

Dean continued to stare at the floor, mind whirring with fear. The time was rapidly approaching when he might have to choose between what was right for the Clan, or what was right for Sam.

*

“Let me go, you bastards!” Sam yelled as he struggled against the Angelic guards. It was embarrassing, how difficult they were to shift. Or rather how impossible, as Sam found himself dragged down corridors without pause until he was far away from the room where he had finally found Dean.

All the while, the Angel called Lucifer followed with an expression of mild curiosity, as if Sam was the only thing of vague interest in an extremely boring day. He didn't say a word as Sam thrashed and cursed. If anything, the display seemed to amuse him a little. That made Sam force himself to be still. He had no intention of providing entertainment for these sick freaks.

“In here,” Lucifer said to the guards, waving his hand towards a door on Sam's left. The guards didn't comment or question. The one that wasn't holding Sam in a vice-like grip stepped forward and opened a door so that the other two could drag Sam into the dark room. Then they dropped him heavily onto the stone floor. It was only through quickly turning his head that Sam managed to avoid breaking his nose. 

“That'll do,” Lucifer said from the doorway. “You can all return to your posts.”

“You will not be requiring us to escort the Hunter back down to the dungeons?” asked one of the guards while the other two backed away nervously. Sam spent a moment pushing himself up into a seating position and checking that his new aches and pains were only bruises.

Lucifer regarded the questioning guard with disdain for a few moments, until the man fidgeted under the cool gaze. “No. I'm perfectly capable of restraining and escorting one disorderly Hunter. But thank you so much for offering.” The smile that came after was oddly sincere and it clearly made the guard ill at ease. The three of them scampered away pretty quickly then. Sam hadn't seen Angels scamper before.

Then Lucifer turned to face him. The Angel stepped into the room and closed the door, plunging them both into total darkness. Before Sam could decide on the best course of action, Lucifer lit a candle and placed it down on a wooden desk. Now that Sam could see, he realised they were in a small storeroom of sorts. Simple chairs and plain desks lined the walls. Furniture that was fine by Hunter standards, but clearly not up to the ornate standards that Angels required.

“What now?” Sam asked, when the silence had become stifling. Lucifer hadn't done anything but stare at him so far and Sam doubted that was the punishment Michael had in mind.

“A good question. One I was about to ask you, actually.” Lucifer leaned back against one of the desks and looked down at the Hunter without the disdain that Michael had displayed. “There are various ways this could go. I’m great at torture.”

Sam shuffled back, but there wasn’t really anywhere for him to go. He had known from the moment he broke free from the prison that his future was not promising, but for Dean’s sake he had convinced himself that he had a chance. “And what are the other options?”

“In order to escape you must have had three things. The physical aptitude for battle, the intelligence to figure out a plan and a support network amongst the other Hunters to help you carry it out. Am I right?”

“If you think I’m selling any of them out, you’re going to be disappointed. Everyone down there wants to escape and would slit an Angel throat to get back home.”

“You would be signing Dean’s death warrant,” Lucifer said, unfazed by Sam’s words. “That’s why Michael has him. As leverage. But then I guess that’s an acceptable loss for getting your Clan to freedom?”

Although Sam said nothing in an attempt to keep Lucifer from spotting any weakness, he knew he couldn’t keep his face expressionless at such a thought. Of course they couldn’t sacrifice Dean. Dean kept them all together and kept them safe. Dad resolved the disputes and organised the battles against the invaders, but it was Dean’s ideas and devotion to the Clan that kept them all in one piece. Without Dean, Sam wouldn’t give a damn about the Clan. He knew it was entirely the wrong attitude for a Clan-Father-to-be, but he couldn’t fight how he felt.

“Of course,” Lucifer went on, drumming his fingers against the table, “If you’d rather take Dean with you when you get out of here, I might have one or two suggestions.”

Sam narrowed his eyes up at the Angel. “And why would you want to help us? You only brought us all here about a month ago.”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Lucifer held up his index finger in admonishment. “I wasn’t behind that. That was my brother’s ridiculous idea. Believe me, I don’t want you here anymore than you want to be here. No offence or anything Sam, but I find you and all your Hunter buddies offensive to my sense of sight, sound and smell. I’d happily dump you all back in Earth-Country today.”

“So why don’t you?”

“My brother would have me killed for treason. My brother is the problem, Sam. Not me. It’s his grand plan to elevate you all to our level. While he’s King and the chief Archangel, his word is law. You won’t be home until another Archangel takes over, one that’s sympathetic to your cause.” Lucifer shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Who are the other Archangels?” Sam asked, well aware that he was being led into a verbal trap, but curious to see where Lucifer was going with this.

“Since we lost Raphael to Demons, that would just be me and Gabriel. But he’s selfish and weak. He wouldn’t help you.”

“Let me guess… you would?”

Lucifer smiled. “Yes. I knew you were a clever one, Sam. Problem is of course, most Angels are too set in their ways to consider a shift in the status quo. Michael will have a slight advantage on me in numbers if I tried to take his throne by force. I can persuade a fair amount of my brethren to side with me, but I would need to throw in something else. An unpredictable element.”

“You want me to sign the Hunters up to your coup.”

“That’s right.”

Sam could see one slight problem with that idea. “The last time we fought Angels we were slaughtered. I’m not using my Clan as cannon-fodder.”

“Daddy’s Clan, surely. Dean’s, at a push.”

“Whatever, goad me all you want. I’m not stupid enough to persuade the others to die for your little glory-quest. Just torture me.”

“Well, aren’t we the cutest little martyr,” Lucifer teased. “But before we do anything we might regret, let me just make a few things clearer for you. You aren’t the first person I’ve approached about Michael’s megalomania. And if you agree to this, you won’t be the only help I have. I told you, I have plenty of influence here. Just not _quite_ enough. If all that fails, I have a Demon army providing reinforcements. I’m going to win, Sam. This is just a chance for you to escape the cells when I do. Trust me, if you knew what my brother was doing to Dean, you’d jump at the chance to slit Michael’s throat for me.”

In any other situation, the course of action would be clear. Lucifer was an enemy, one that was working with Demons and the very Angels that had the Hunters prisoner. Dad would condone spitting in the bastard’s face then taking the punishment. But how would that set them free? How would it help Dean, stuck in the King’s clutches?

“What do you need us to do?”

*

_Michael surveyed his court from the comfort of his throne, the tall back of the chair reaching up to the ceiling. Reaching through the ceiling, creating a new tower to celebrate his majesty. His subjects sat in their pews, calmly awaiting his teachings in their humble Sunday clothes. All of them wore the same expression and Michael could not recognise a single face in the sea of mediocrity. His gaze had run over the same faces so many times that it had worn them smooth and featureless, fossils turned to sand under the might of the sea._

_Somewhere there was beauty, but it was not here._

_He stood and stabbed his golden sceptre at the floor, sending the chime across the cavernous room that his sermon was about to begin. Silence greeted him. The Angels would never dare interrupt the transmission of their Father's Word._

_Yet, as Michael began to speak, he could hear the dull murmur of distant noise. A low thud, like an erratic march. A pounding sound that resounded in his chest._

_Continuing on regardless, he spoke of Father's love. Holy love. The love that had been bestowed upon them so that they might bestow it to one another. His subjects sat like statues, absorbing his speech as he spoon-fed it to their ears. They had to listen, he was their ruler._

_But somewhere, someone was not heeding him. Someone out there had something to teach him, and would not hear a word that passed from his lips until he had lent them his ear._

_Michael went on. He spoke of Father's love. Holy love. He could think of nothing else as the pounding became louder. All around him the other Angels sat staring at him blankly as the thumping noise became almost deafening._

_“Can none of you hear it?” he exclaimed, when the noise became too distracting._

_“Hear what, brother?” asked Lucifer, one of the faceless creatures in the front row._

_Michael dropped his sceptre and rushed down the steps from his throne and lecturn. The pounding moved through his blood, forced his heart to beat faster, urged him onward towards... towards..._

_The doors burst open before he reached them. Although light streamed into the hall through the tall stain-glass windows, outside it was dark as night. The thumping sound was coming from somewhere ahead, in the trees. Without looking back at his flock, Michael stepped into the night. He swam in the sound, the beat that carried him on across the grass, across the dirt, into the place that the Hunters called Haven._

_Their tents and huts formed a large circle, casting shadows by the flicker of the bonfire. The flame moved in time with the thumping, which Michael now saw was the stamping of Hunter feet. It was not music, this pounding of the ground, but it provided enough of a beat for the Clan-Mother to dance._

_Moving deeper into the circle like a man bewitched, Michael ignored the depravity around him as Hunters fell to fornicating with one another, their skin smeared with Demon blood and reeking of liquor and vice. The beat continued, and Dean continued to dance._

_Dean’s body glistened in the firelight, slick with sweat and the blood used to mark him with symbols. It was old magic, a superstitious ritual designed to protect the Clan’s fortune. It was barbaric, but Michael found himself unable and unwilling to intervene. He could only stare as Dean moved instinctively, with utter abandon, high on the potent magical cocktail of demon blood, holy oil and firewater._

_Michael didn’t even realise how close he had moved until Dean reached out and grabbed his arm._

_“I’m here to save you,” Michael said by way of explanation. But the words meant nothing. They were nonsense and he felt embarrassed just speaking them._

_Dean tugged at his sleeve and pulled him along, nearer the fire where a werewolf pelt had been laid._

_“I want no part of this,” explained Michael again. “I’m an Archangel, a King, and…”_

_Dean’s fingers pulled at the red cloth vest he was wearing. It was lifted up over his head and cast aside, revealing the Hunter’s remarkable physique. Then, with two graceful steps of his bare feet, Dean was close enough to kiss._

_Plump lips, red with smears of demon blood, framed a whisper. “You can go back.”_

_Michael looked over his shoulder, back towards the island of Heaven. It glowed bright and ethereal in the distance while Dean stood before him in the darkness, emanating warmth from his fire-heated skin. “I could…”_

_“Or I could finish disrobing for you.”_

_His gaze fell to the red shorts that sat snugly around Dean’s hips and thighs. All around them the Hunters hollered and howled. It was barbaric and irreligious and demeaning…_

_“Undress,” ordered the King._

_Dean leaned away as he slid the fabric down to his ankles, bent over and revealing all of himself to the King. The lack of shame set Michael’s blood aflame with desire. When Dean stood straight once more, he was utterly naked. Michael reached out, his right hand shaking, until his fingertips hovered a breath away from the Clan-Mother’s skin._

_With a sly smile, Dean shoved him roughly and Michael fell onto the soft fur on the floor. He lay there stunned as the Hunter straddled him, strong thighs snugly around the King’s hips._

_“You’re no King here,” Dean murmured as around them Hunters stamped and shouted._

_Before Michael could argue the point, the Clan-Mother shifted and led him into a realm of rapturous physical pleasure, the likes of which was outlawed in Heaven. The body above him twisted and arched in the firelight, hot and soft and slick around him. Michael was lost to it, mind awash with ecstasy._

_But not entirely lost. He twisted around, easily putting Dean on the floor beneath him._

_“I rule where I please,” he said, breathing harshly into Dean’s ear before spearing the Clan-Mother with a more brutal thrust of his hardness. Dean gasped out and dragged his fingers down Michael’s back, wanton and encouraging._

_Around them the Hunters fell silent as their Clan-Mother was taken. They could do nothing but watch as Michael claimed Dean for the Angels._

The Archangel snapped out of his vision with a sharp gasp, sat at his desk surrounded by books of Hunter lore. Clearly he had been fatigued for such a trance to fall on him without warning.

Standing from his ornate table, Michael was surprised to find his body afflicted with symptoms of sexual arousal. His penis had stiffened within the loose silken confines of his casual clothes. He had never experienced a vision that could cause such intense desire that it carried over into his waking moments. Yet, as he thought more upon what he had seen, he shuddered again with feelings of lust. The image of Dean beneath him, pliant and helpless for all his bravado, was an idea Michael found difficult to dispel.

As he revisited the vision in his mind, Michael tidied his desk. He closed the books of speculation on Hunter fertility rituals and set aside the scrolls detailing their heathen orgies. Castiel had tried to dissuade him from reading such texts, describing them as ‘an inaccurate portrayal of Hunter culture’ and heavily implying that they had been written for the purposes of propaganda and titillation.

But Michael’s vision told him otherwise. He had no doubt now that what he had read was fact. The sinful nights of carnal pleasure were a feature of the Hunter life. When the Hunters begged to be allowed their culture, what they actually begged for was the right to indulge themselves with perverse practises. It was an affront to all that was holy, one that Michael would have to prevent.

He left his chamber for a walk in order to collect his thoughts and found himself minutes later approaching Dean’s bedroom door. Michael opened it without announcing his presence and was surprised to find a blade pressed to his throat.

Immediately Castiel withdrew his sword, clearly embarrassed by his overzealous aggression. “Forgive me, my Lord. I wasn’t expecting you.”

Michael ignored him and walked over to the bed where Dean slept. His blankets had been shifted aside by his movements and left his naked upper body exposed to the night, while his hip and upper thigh were partially revealed. He was sleeping naked, oblivious. _Helpless_.

“My Lord?” Castiel spoke in a quiet murmur, so as not to wake the sleeping Hunter. “Is everything alright? You seem…dishevelled.”

Glancing down at himself, Michael realised that he was still clothed in the casual grey silk he wore in his chambers. He never usually ventured out in anything less than formalwear appropriate for the Court or his more humble attire for the holy sermons.

“I am well, Castiel,” Michael replied, equally hushed. “Tell me, how does Dean feel about his imprisonment now? It has been six weeks that he has been our treasured guest. Surely he has grown tired of despising us.”

Castiel seemed awkward at the line of questioning. “He distinguishes between us, liking some more than others. He still feels a certain bitterness towards Angels in general, but I suppose that is to be expected.”

“In time he will learn that we only had his best interests at heart,” Michael said softly, reaching out to trace a finger across Dean’s full lips.

“Their.”

The interjection distracted Michael from his contemplation of the Clan-Mother and he frowned over at Castiel. “What?”

“ _Their_ best interests. You speak of the Hunter Clan.”

Michael blinked, feeling himself wake fully as if he had still been in the grip of his vision. He snatched his hand back from Dean’s face and stood from the bed.

“Of course.” He marched towards the door. “In future Castiel, be sure that he wears clothing to sleep in. I want him fully-clothed at all times!”

Behind him, Dean startled awake, but Michael was already slamming the heavy door shut between them.

*

Dean always thought that if an Angel called him for help, he'd be the first to tell them to go fuck themselves. But when the Archangel Gabriel banged on his door violently one evening and demanded his assistance, well... he was curious. The door had been warded thoroughly by Michael so that only the King and Castiel could open it. When Gabriel knocked, Castiel looked to Dean for guidance, which in itself was odd. Dean nodded and the Angel lifted whatever barrier prevented Gabriel's entry.

The Archangel barrelled in, shoving Castiel aside in his haste. “We have a situation.”

“How nice for you,” Dean replied with a smile, no intention of making their ‘situation’ any easier.

Gabriel sighed. “Let me be clearer. Your Clan have a situation.”

Okay, so he had Dean’s attention. Dean climbed off of the bed, where he had been sat cross-legged examining some boring books of Angelic art that Castiel had brought him as a weak attempt at entertainment. 

“What's happened?”

“Nothing yet. Well...” Gabriel shifted awkwardly. “See, we're not sure. It shouldn't be possible, but the Clan are pretty insistent that one of your Hunters is possessed by a Demon.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Castiel wrinkle his nose as if disgusted or confused. He couldn't tell which. 

“Motherfuckers. Who is it? Have you exorcised him yet?”

Both Gabriel and Castiel stared at him blankly before echoing, “Exorcised?”

What? Were Angels all morons? “Yeah, you know, exorcised him! Has anybody extracted the Demon?”

“It is commonplace for Hunters to become the puppets of Demons?” Castiel asked, looking alarmed. “I had thought that a myth.”

“No, it’s not a _myth_ ,” Dean snapped. They were wasting time. “What, you guys don’t have Demon possession around here?”

“Our Father protects us,” Castiel explained.

Gabriel continued. “Demons shouldn’t even be able to get into Heaven. The place is quadruple-layered with holy wards.”

“Obviously you need another layer. Take me to the possessed guy. I’m gonna need some water to bless on the way. Who did you say it was?”

“I don’t know his name,” Gabriel said, looking amused at the suggestion. “You should just be grateful I came to get you. Uriel’s all for smiting the poor bastard and I don’t think a Hunter can survive that kind of holy blast. Your brother’s wife told me you were the one to call about this sort of thing, so here I am. Let’s get a move on, shall we?”

They left Dean’s chamber, Gabriel leading the way. Though concerned about the Clan, Dean made sure to memorise the path they were taking, just in case he had a chance to get free later. Who knew, he might catch Castiel with his guard down at some point, though the Angel had been increasingly attentive lately. They took a brief detour to grab a jug of water, but Dean was confident he could remember the route.

“Did Michael permit this?” Castiel asked as they moved through the palace. “He is especially… concerned about Dean’s welfare of late. He will not react kindly to an unscheduled outing.”

“Relax, Castiel. Michael’s not the only Archangel around these parts. If he’s got a problem with this you can blame me. Say I bullied you into letting Deano out to play.”

“It is not _my_ safety I care for,” Castiel said firmly. When Dean glanced over, he realised Cas was staring at him intently. 

“Aww,” cooed Gabriel, “Well ain’t that just about the cutest thing I’ve seen all year. It’ll all end in tears, mind you. Michael has plans for Dean and I’m pretty sure they don’t involve you.”

Castiel looked like Gabriel had hit him, shocked as he stuttered out, “I don’t… I don’t understand what you mean.”

They reached a locked door. Gabriel clicked his fingers and it swung open before them, leading to a steep, dark stone staircase. Before descending he paused to waggle his finger in Castiel’s face and say, “That, my dear brother, is why you won’t get what you want. You don’t even know what it is!” Then he walked off down the steps. Dean followed before Gabriel could get too far ahead and Castiel was right behind him. 

“Tell me it’s not this cold in the prison,” Dean said, his breath leaving little clouds in the air as he spoke.

“I’m sure they have been provided with blankets,” said Castiel, in a failed attempt to reassure him.

“Are you telling me that for all the fancy powers of Angels, none of them could be bothered to zap up some warm rooms for the race of people they’d just kidnapped?!”

Snapping at Cas was kind of like hitting a Shifter pup. The guy was too good at appearing meek and harmless. Often Dean forgot that he was complicit in the capture of the Hunters. Sometimes he forgot Cas was in his chamber as a guard, not as company. 

“I am certain Michael has his reasons.”

“I’m certain his reasons suck.”

They reached the bottom of the steps and walked through a doorway into the most soulless, bleak place that Dean had ever seen. There were no windows down here. The expansive stone room was lit and heated by a few torches on the walls. The Hunters were all in cages, huddled under blankets with metal grids in the floor nearby for the collection of waste.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Dean said quietly. His Clan. His people. He was supposed to care for these people, nurture them. They were supposed to roam the plains of Earth-Country. He was being kept in a damn luxury suite while his Clan were stored like cattle.

Gabriel took hold of his arm. “Come on, the Demonic one’s down this way.” Around them, the Hunters perked up at the sight of their Clan-Mother.

“Dean?”

“Dean!”

“Hey look, it’s Dean!”

“He’s okay!”

It felt like running from camp all over again and the naked hope in their voices twisted Dean’s stomach. Especially when their calls were followed by hacking coughs. They walked deeper into the prison, past cells holding people that Dean cared about more than his own life. Eventually they reached a cell where Uriel stood with his foot on a Hunter’s chest.

“Gordon,” Dean whispered, recognising the man immediately. 

“He’s possessed, son,” said John Winchester from the adjacent cell. It stung Dean deeply to see the Clan-Father, his dad, stuck in the same craphole as everyone else. “We don’t know how it got to him. Gordon should have the tat, just like most of us.”

“Tat?” Uriel echoed with a sneer.

“A protection sigil we mark on our chests,” Dean explained. “Up until now it’s always worked to prevent Demon possession.”

“Your time’s over, scum,” hissed Gordon from the floor. “You’ll all fall. I’m just the first, the one that ran before the start of the race. The others’ll be here to wear you all like dresses!”

“Just let me kill him,” Uriel said, lifting his boot to stamp down.

“No!” Dean shouted. “You’ve killed enough Hunters!”

“That’s subjective,” the Angel replied sullenly.

“Uriel, let him try,” Gabriel said from the doorway of the cage. “We can’t just resort to killing them off whenever something’s wrong with one. Michael won’t like that.”

“Michael won’t care as long as this one stays pretty,” Uriel replied.

Dean didn’t even want to think about the implications of that. Michael’s recent weird behaviour was worrying enough already and besides, he had a Demon to deal with. He finished blessing the water with a charm from the end of his scarf, thankful again that he had been able to wrangle another day in his Clan-Mother robes from Cas. Michael would have had him in a weird baggy shirt thing and thick long pants today, despite the warmth. Having said that, Dean was feeling a chill in the depths of the Hunter prison.

“Okay, hold him firm, this could get messy.”

Sure enough, the Demon responded to the exorcism chant with the usual angry theatrics. Uriel almost broke a sweat pinning Gordon to the dirty floor. But one ancient chant later, the Demon was pouring out of Gordon’s mouth in a plume of thick black smoke. Dean was focused intently on it, waiting to see where it would go, when Uriel thrust his fist into the cloud. It lit up and crackled like a storm-cloud cooking up some lightning. Then it was gone.

“No wonder you guys have no problem with Demons,” Dean said, awed by the display.

“Some are more powerful than others,” Castiel said from behind him. “I don’t understand how such a weak Demon penetrated our wards.”

Dean shuffled forward on his knees to Gordon. “Hey, Gordon. You hear me, man?”

“Check his tattoo,” his Dad called from the next cell.

Obediently, Dean pulled open Gordon’s tunic and examined the man’s chest. He knew exactly where he was looking and what he was looking for. It was his duty as Clan-Mother to make sure everyone was protected against the Demon menace. That included checking their tattoos every few months so that Demons couldn’t infiltrate the Clan using the bodies of Hunters. The incident with Bobby in the last Demon war was enough to scar that lesson into their minds.

But Gordon’s chest was smooth and unmarked, like he had never been inked at all. Dean reached out and smoothed his fingers over the skin, but could feel no bump or cut. “It’s gone,” he said to the small audience, utterly mystified.

Gordon groaned as he regained consciousness and he blinked up at Dean blearily. “You couldn’t grope me when I was conscious, Dean?”

Rolling his eyes, Dean moved his hand from Gordon’s chest and pulled him up into a sitting position. “You were possessed. Remember anything?”

“Not a damn thing. Went to sleep here, woke up just now. I don’t get it, my tattoo oughta prevent possession.” He tapped the same area of his chest that Dean had just examined. “Well I’ll be damned, where’s it gone?”

“This is all very suspect,” Castiel said gravely.

“Agreed,” said Gabriel. 

Although Dean was obviously worried about the implications this had for the safety of his Clan, he had another concern. Moving over to the bars between Gordon’s cell and the next, he spoke to his Dad.

“I didn’t see Sammy on my way in. He tried to save me. Michael gave him to Lucifer.”

The Clan-Father’s brow wrinkled as if he was pained. He looked like he had aged ten years since Dean last saw him. Dean put a hand around the bars so that his fingers would be slightly closer to touching his Dad.

“Sam’s taken all of this very badly. I tried to stop him from doing anything stupid but you _know_ what he’s like. He’s been calling me an unfit leader for years. Now that we’re all locked up in this damn dungeon, other members of the Clan are starting to agree with him. Starting to hatch all kinds of crazy plans that are gonna get ‘em all killed.” John put his hands over Dean’s on the bars. His fingers were like ice. “I’m worried, Dean. Lucifer takes Sam out of here every once in a while, but your brother comes back without a mark on him. It’s almost like…”

“That’s enough,” Uriel snapped, tugging Dean back from his father. “You’ve done what we needed you to do now it’s back upstairs with you.”

Dean shoved back against the Angel. He had to hear the rest of his Dad’s thoughts. “Just let me…”

Uriel’s hand hit him like a sledgehammer and Dean fell back against the bars.

Two different voices shouted Dean’s name, then Castiel was pulling him up to his feet. Gabriel stood between them and Uriel.

“He’s just a Hunter,” Uriel sneered.

“Take him back upstairs, Castiel,” Gabriel ordered.

Castiel led Dean out of the cage and took his hand, striding on ahead and pulling him along behind.

Up front, in one of the cages to the right, Bela was frantically waving for Dean’s attention. Dean leaned to the right as he walked, hoping Cas didn’t just tug him right past. 

He needn’t have worried, as Bela just shoved a dusty, thin book into his hands then backed away into the cage. Without glancing at it, Dean shoved the book into a pocket inside his robe. 

Cas didn’t notice a thing.

*

Castiel was ill at ease. He had been for a while now. Ever since the Archangel Michael had announced his intention to bring Father's light to the Hunters, Castiel’s mind had been heavy with an emotion he was beginning to recognise as doubt. He had studied the Hunter lore for a long time. They were impressive people, capable of brilliant things with few resources in difficult circumstances. Castiel had always imagined that when he visited Earth-Country for the first time, it would be as an invisible observer. It always made him happy to imagine a less realistic scenario where he was welcomed as a friend.

Instead he had assisted in slaughter. He had joined Michael in the attempt to crush the culture that he had admired from afar for so long. What else could he have done? Michael was the legacy of their Holy Father. His Word was Law. Obedience was ingrained in all of them. The mere fact that it was Michael who had planned all this would imply that it was a course sanctioned by their Father.

But Castiel was no longer sure. In part this could be blamed on Dean Winchester, the Clan-Mother. Since his imprisonment, Dean had not ceased in his criticism of the Angels, as was to be expected. The problem was that Castiel found it more and more difficult to argue with him. At first it had been very easy to explain that everything they did was for the sake of the Hunters. They would learn and evolve using Father’s teachings. Then they would be safe from the Demons. They would be Angels.

Except now, when Dean claimed they had been better as they were, Castiel was silent. He had begun to agree with him. Not only that, but Dean’s grief and anger over the state of the Clan’s accommodation was contagious, awakening an empathy in Castiel that he never knew he possessed. He found it aggravating that none of his peers would listen to him when he explained that the prison was too cold. At first he thought that perhaps they had simply not realised, as he had not. But once Dean had educated him, Castiel found it impossible to impart that knowledge to his fellow Angels. They were deaf to concerns for the wellbeing of the Clan. It all made Castiel wonder why they were doing this. Was it really Michael’s intent to simply break Dean’s spirit, that he might lead the Clan to convert out of resignation and weariness?

Michael had been more inscrutable than usual in his behaviour. While never the most happy and frivolous of the Angels, he had recently been strangely quiet and sullen. Before he had been prone to confiding small facts to Castiel, but now his thoughts were walled up inside his head and Castiel was permitted no access. Michael would ignore and evade Dean through the day and then arrive unannounced in the night to sit at his bedside.

Perhaps – and this was a dangerous idea indeed – Castiel was not the only one with doubts? He didn’t dare ask, even when Michael made a particularly peculiar request of him one day. Presenting Castiel with a vial of rose-coloured liquid, he requested Castiel add it to Dean’s bath. “To calm him,” Michael had said. But Castiel was not to mention it to the Hunter.

It seemed a harmless enough request. Dean _had_ been on edge since the Demon possession in the Clan quarters. He wanted to go down there and stay with them, that he might keep an eye on his people and ensure they were not harmed any further. After days of having his requests refused, Dean had simply fallen mute again, studying a book he had found and ignoring Castiel’s attempts to converse. 

So Castiel added the potion to Dean’s bath as Michael had ordered, before the Hunter entered the room. Even in his darkest moods Dean liked to soak in the waters. The liquid had a sickly floral stench that quickly dissipated as it mixed with the larger pool.

At first Dean showed no signs of relaxation. He remained tense, glaring at the wall as he floated around the bathing pool. He seemed deep in thought. Castiel watched him. Though he would usually avert his gaze for the sake of decency, he wanted to be alert in case of any ill-effects from Michael’s well-intentioned gift. Due to his vigilance over the course of Dean’s bath, Castiel saw the gradual change in him as the tension ebbed from his body and his expression grew more peaceful. 

“Dean?”

“Mmm?”

“Are you well?”

The Hunter nodded, slow and deliberate, splashing slightly in the water. Then he stretched his arms up high, steam rising from the hot water on his skin. Castiel felt a sudden inappropriate urge to help Dean dry himself. But inappropriate urges arose around Dean all the time lately and Castiel was becoming quite adept at ignoring them. 

“I feel…good, Cas.”

“That’s good.”

“I’m kinda sleepy.”

Castiel moved over to the small stone bench where he had folded a large thick towel and picked it up before returning to the side of the bath. “Perhaps it is time to leave the water. You have been in there for an hour, which is the approximate average time you spend bathing.”

Dean looked up at him, water dripping off of the end of his nose and glistening in droplets that magnified his freckles.

Then he laughed. His joy made the most beautiful sound Castiel had ever heard. To think, if Dean were still at home, surrounded by his Clan, he might have been making that sound often.

“You time my baths?” Dean asked incredulously.

“Your towel is here,” Castiel replied, inexplicably embarrassed by the question.

With slow but graceful movements, Dean waded to the stairs and moved up them with careful steps, as though he was feeling unsteady. When Castiel spread the towel wide and offered it to him, Dean didn’t take it as he normally would. He stepped into it, so that Castiel could wrap it around him. This meant, of course, that Castiel’s arms wrapped around him too. It was something like an embrace with a towel between them.

Castiel’s breath hitched as he was flooded with sensation. Dean was warm in his arms. Where he wasn’t covered by the towel, the Hunter’s skin pressed moisture into Castiel’s clothes. While Dean smelled of the scented water, his body held the unexplainable hint of Earth-Country. Lost in the moment, Castiel pressed his nose to the soft skin of Dean’s neck and inhaled deeply.

“Mmm… Cas…”

The Angel drew his head back immediately, mortified that he had dared such intimacy. But Dean didn’t seem upset with him. The Clan-Mother’s eyes were half-lidded, giving him a look of sleepy contentment.

“D’you want me? ‘Cause you’re my favourite. I hate all the Angels but, like, you’re my favourite. Pisses me off that you’re you. If you were Clan…man, I’d be all over that…”

Dean swayed, his balance determined solely by his grip on Castiel, so the Angel held him closer. Firmer. 

“I suspect this is due to some unexpected effect of…” Castiel stopped speaking, remembering he was supposed to stay silent on the subject of the potion. He was incredibly distracted, in all fairness. 

Resting his head on Castiel’s shoulder once more, Dean’s green eyes seemed to look deep into Castiel’s soul as he murmured, “You’re not like them, are you, Cas?”

Castiel shook his head, though he wasn’t certain exactly what Dean meant. He only knew that he wanted to keep that fond look on Dean’s face for as long as possible.

The sound of the door shook Castiel from his perfect moment. “I’ll take him, Castiel.”

At hearing Michael’s voice, Dean blinked blearily in the Archangel’s direction. None of the usual hostility was present in Dean’s expression but instead of feeling relief about it, Castiel felt alarm. Michael was his Lord, yet Castiel wanted Dean to be on his guard. All these feelings were confusing and Castiel fell back to his most tried and tested form of behaviour: Obedience.

“Of course, my Lord.” 

He stepped back as Michael stepped forward and the towel exchanged hands. Michael ran the fluffy white material over Dean’s shoulders, chasing the droplets of water which Castiel so envied in that moment. After a period of uncertainty, Dean relaxed into Michael’s grasp and leaned his head on the Archangel’s shoulder.

“You may leave us, Castiel,” Michael said quietly. Something in his tone of voice made it clear that it was not a request, but an order.

“I… My Lord, his mind is clouded.”

“I’m aware of that, Castiel.”

Michael pulled Dean close so that the Clan-Mother’s naked chest was pressed to his shirt. He put his arms around Dean and slowly rubbed the towel in circles on the Hunter’s rear. 

“But…”

“Don’t worry, I will take good care of him. Nobody is more conscious than me of how _helpless_ our little Clan-Mother is.”

Doubt was no longer a whisper in Castiel’s mind. It was a full scream, desperate and fearful.

“Is there a reason you are disobeying me, Castiel?”

The word sounded so horrendous. Disobeying. It sent a wave of revulsion through Castiel’s body and he shook his head, “No, my Lord, I…”

“Then go and I will ignore this indiscretion.”

And Castiel did, though the shame did not abate, even when he had flown a full five miles from Dean’s chamber. If anything, he thought upon his fleeing and began to hate himself for it. He tried to tell himself that Dean would surely be safe with the King, but even that notion was now riddled with doubt and suspicion.

*

Gabriel's palace was situated as the third point of a triangle, with Michael and Lucifer's palaces at an equal distance from him in either direction. He had the smallest palace of the three and back when Raphael was alive, he had shared the space. They had got on each other's nerves more than any Angel ought to irritate another, but years after Raph's death, Gabriel still felt the palace was too big. The fact that he refused to keep any staff might have had something to do with that. So sue him, he'd rather be waited on hand and foot by illusory people. At least they didn't have any real feelings.

Hilda was giving him a footrub. Every time he recreated her, he made her with tinier, stronger hands. It was becoming an odd fetish, even for him. He'd create some friends soon and have them stage an intervention. 

A knock on the door was extremely unusual. The last time someone had knocked on the door it had been Michael, demanding Gabriel's assistance one final time in the crusade against the Hunters. Gabriel had slammed the door in his face.

“I'm on my way,” he called as the knocking continued. With a click of his fingers, Hilda vanished into thin air and he was fully dressed in his court clothes. He stepped forward and appeared outside, directly behind the person knocking on his door. He slid his blade back into its sheath when he recognised Castiel, facing away from him. “Something I can help you with, Castiel?”

The lower Angel jumped and turned to face Gabriel. He looked rough, like he hadn't taken rest in a long time. He looked emotional. Gabriel had seen this development coming from a mile away.

“I need to talk to you. It is extremely urgent. I'm aware this is...inappropriate, but please.”

Gabriel sighed. He knew what this would be about. “Do you have a problem with the way the Hunters are being treated?”

Castiel nodded, relief clear on his face. “Yes!”

“Too bad.”

In a blink, Gabriel was back inside on his sofa. Perhaps he had some of the meat left from dinner. He could put it in a sandwich...

“You can't honestly be happy about it,” Castiel said, appearing in the middle of the living room.

Oh, that was too far. “You have any idea how out of line it is for you to enter an Archangel’s chambers without permission?”

“I’m keenly aware. That is why I knocked. However, you have left me little choice. I must speak to you about the conditions in which the Hunters are being kept.”

“It sucks, I know.” Gabriel shrugged. “What do you care?”

“We should all care, or this entire war was for naught!”

“Of _course_ it was for naught!” Gabriel yelled, standing from his sofa. “Our Father is their Father. He made us all. You really think he wanted the bigger brother to go and smash up the little brother’s play area? All we did is kick sand in their eyes and take their toys. We’re not changing anything, we’re embarrassing ourselves! Any idiot could have seen that. Why do you think I stayed here?”

“So… you’ll help me?”

“Help you what, Castiel? Save all the Hunters? Yeah, because Michael really listened to me when I told him to shove his religious agenda up his ass last time.”

“That was sarcasm.”

“And realism. The Hunters are done for. The best we can hope for is a decent breeding program to keep them from dying out and thicker blankets.”

“You have the power to change this,” Castiel said, irritatingly earnest. “Why won’t you?”

Gabriel heaved a sigh and sat back down on the sofa. It wasn’t Castiel’s fault. At least he had the brains to doubt, even if he was a little late to the party. “The Holy War wasn’t the endgame, Castiel. Michael’s long-term objective is not to save the Hunters. The Holy War was just a battle in a bigger fight. It was political. Religion was just the spoon he used to feed you this shit. The real fight has been going on a lot longer, maybe even longer than the Hunters have been in existence.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Sit down.”

Castiel did, his hands folded neatly in his lap as he sat down beside Gabriel on the sofa. Always so tense and awkward. 

“What I’m about to tell you can’t leave this room. For your own safety. I shouldn’t even be telling you, but you’ll only get yourself in deep trouble if you carry on championing a cause that contradicts Michael’s.”

“But it _doesn’t_ ,” Castiel insisted. “That’s what I don’t understand. Michael wanted to save them, that’s all I want too!”

“Michael doesn’t care about the Hunters!” Gabriel snapped, his voice rising in volume to match Castiel’s. “He just needed a cause that sounded noble so that he could rally the Angels under his banner and dispel the social stagnation that’s giving Lucifer a loyal following!”

For a moment, Gabriel expected the younger Angel to confess confusion again, or maybe to jump straight into denial. But though Castiel seemed lost in his thoughts for a little while, eventually his blue gaze hardened with resolve.

“I care for the Hunters, even if Michael does not.”

Gabriel chuckled and a bottle of white wine appeared in his hand. “Yeah, yeah. You’re both just obsessing over the same piece of Hunter ass. There’s nothing charitable about that.”

“Again, I don’t understand your words.”

“You aren’t keeping the right company, Castiel,” Gabriel lamented before taking a sip of his wine from the bottle. “Ahh. Right. What I’m basically saying is that you and Michael both profess a love for the Hunters, but you actually mean carnal lust for the Clan-Mother. Not that I blame you. If I was ever inclined to want a Hunter, I’d probably want that one.”

“Michael does not… it is a _sin_.” 

“Everything’s a sin, Castiel. Haven’t you been paying attention? It’s only because Michael ran out of things to condemn here that we ever went near the Hunters. We couldn’t polish ourselves anymore, so we found a species a little messier to work with. Pretty sick, isn’t it?”

Castiel looked more shell-shocked now than he had all evening. Clearly the poor little fool had been adhering to the nonsensical behavioural codes better than most. Suddenly, some new revelation had Castiel’s stubbled jaw dropping and the Angel launched himself to his feet.

“Michael wants Dean.”

Then he was gone. Gabriel sipped at his wine, recreated Hilda the masseuse and tried not to think about the horde of suffering Hunters huddled in the cold under his brother’s palace.

*

The room was spinning when Dean woke. He curled his fists into the bedsheets and stared at the ceiling. The creme-coloured swirl pattern veered left and right and he moved side-to-side, trying to compensate. He hadn't felt this rough since he got into Dad's firewater stash aged sixteen. He was freaking out and he knew it but that only made him freak out more because he couldn't remember where he was or what had happened and... Angels. He remembered the Angels.

He forced himself upright quickly, like ripping off a bandage. For a moment his vision almost faded completely to black, his view of the bright, airy room narrowing to a small tunnel. After a little while sat there swaying side to side, Dean was able to see without blinking frantically and breathe without feeling like he was going to puke.

Now that the pleasantries were out of the way, Dean noticed something else unnerving. He tested himself with a little...clench...

“Motherfucker.” Ha, that was almost funny. A pun or something and shit, shit, shit, it was Michael, wasn't it? Dean was alone now but bits of the night were beginning to bleed back into his memory. Sometime after his bath Michael had arrived. Dean had allowed the bastard to rub a towel all over his body. Something in the bath, must have been. 

Feeling very much like he was going to hurl now, Dean forced himself out of the bed. His legs didn't want to co-operate, still under the influence of whatever he'd been given. He stumbled and landed hard on his knees. He had to get out of here. Now. Before the pattern on the ceiling wrapped him up in its fucking swirls and gave him back to Michael. But Angels, they were everywhere. Nowhere in here, but everywhere out there. He had to get past them, had to get to the Clan, get help…

The book! It was under the bed, hidden from sneaky Angel eyes. Dean tugged it out from the mattress and clutched it to his chest for a moment. He had no idea where Bela had found the thing, but the secrets in its pages would prove invaluable. He’d been studying hard.

But the door was still a major obstacle, as he found when he crawled over to it. He couldn’t figure out a way to make it unlock. It had to be Cas or Michael and Dean really didn’t want to wait for Michael to come back.

_“Yes, yes, just like that. Little Hunter whore, my temptation and ruin…”_

Dean vomited into the corner as more of the night came back to him. He had done nothing in his own defence, forced into easy compliance by whatever magic Michael had used on his mind. But he’d felt weird before Michael’s arrival, hadn’t he? In the bath, he’d gotten real sleepy and dopey. Could Cas have been the culprit? Drugged him up and handed him over to Michael? He was obedient to a fault. It was the only thing Dean didn’t like about him. That and the fact that he’d apparently assisted Michael in humiliating the Clan. Dean couldn’t even imagine trying to explain this to his Dad. Fuck, Sam would be livid.

He could worry about that when he reached them. Dean shook himself, realising belatedly he had fallen into shock in the corner, trembling and thinking when he needed to be working and fighting. With shaky hands he flicked through the pages of his book until he found the picture he was looking for. 

Then he returned to the bed and found the shiv under the pillow that he had made out of a broken bathroom tile. To think, if he’d been himself last night he could have rammed this right into Michael’s fucking eye.

On his way back to the corner near the door he tripped and almost impaled himself. How long would it be before this spell or potion wore off? He wouldn’t get far in this state.

Dean put the book out flat on the floor before him and began cutting and painting, smearing his own blood around the wall to mirror the illustration. By the time Castiel burst through the door Dean was woozier than before, but he had finished his task.

“You’re hurt,” Castiel said first of all, as though Dean’s injuries were more important to him than the warding on the wall. 

“No shit,” Dean said before slamming his hand down in the centre of the bloody symbol. There was a flash of light and an odd shriek that could have come from Castiel. When Dean opened his eyes again, Cas was gone. The door was still open. 

It wasn’t easy to clamber to his feet, but Dean had no intention of crawling to safety. He stumbled out through the door and way glanced both ways down the tilting, blurring corridor. Left. He was pretty sure it was left. Eventually his chosen route brought him to some stairs, which Dean didn’t recall from his trip to the dungeons _or_ the banquet hall. 

Dean wasn’t sure how much time passed during his wanderings before the realisation hit that he was utterly lost. He held back a sob, consoling himself with the fact that at least he hadn’t encountered any guards yet. Obviously Michael didn’t think Dean was up to escaping. Well, he’d soon see.

Sounds of movement nearby led Dean to hide on various occasions – behind doors, under tables, in little cubby-holes. Angels didn’t seem to be in the habit of thoroughly checking their surroundings though, just walking right on by when Dean was certain they would catch him. At least Cas hadn’t sounded the alarm yet, but it would only be a matter of time. They’d follow the trail of blood he was leaving.

One door led him out of the palace. Dean knew he had taken a wrong turning now, but it had been so long since he breathed fresh air that he couldn’t force himself back inside right away. It was a nice evening. One hand on the stone wall to steady himself, Dean walked a little further around the palace so that he wasn’t noticeable right by the door. There was a wild little hedge that the gardeners had missed. Dean sank down to the ground behind it, ignoring the scratching of the bendy little twigs against his skin. Fuck, he’d have to swipe some clothes from somewhere before he went back to the Clan, otherwise they’d be devastated by the sight of him.

Maybe he wouldn’t even tell them what happened. They’d be happier that way. If he could get his ritual clothes back he could just meander down into the dungeons and free them without mentioning any of the nasty stuff. Sam and Dad would hug him, help him bandage his arm, then they could all find their way home together.

Dean rested his head against the stone wall and closed his eyes, dreaming of Earth-Country. He knew he had to get up and go find the Clan, but he was just going to rest for a moment.

Just a moment more.

*

John Winchester was in exactly the same place as he had been for the past two months and it was beginning to grate. Not just for him, but for everyone around him. At first all the irritation and frustration had been concentrated on their powerful captors, but as the anger built up the Hunters had enough to go round. Blame had fallen on the Angels first of all for their senseless attack, but everyone had since then found time to blame the Demons for picking at their defences ahead of time and then most recently, they were blaming the Clan-Father.

It was difficult to remember the last time someone had questioned the authority of the Clan-Father. In peace-time there was little to complain about. In war-time the Clan banded together tighter than ever to fight their external enemies. To question the Clan-Father was to destabilise the Clan. It was John's job to ensure he never drove his people to doubt him. It wasn't a job he had done particularly well, even before the Angels attacked. When the Demons murdered Mary he had very nearly marched his people into Hell for vengeance. Only Dean had been able to calm him down and help him see all the ways that they could fight without unnecessary sacrifice. 

Now the Angels had his boy. The Clan-Mother. John was the sword, but Dean was their shield. Mary had taught him the wards and the exorcisms and the ancient lore. Dean was the heart of the Clan, always ready with a funny word and a grin and more importantly, always convinced that there was a way to win. Dean would die before he stopped fighting for his people. Whenever John's orders had left the Clan bitter and grumbling, Dean always won them back to the chosen path of action. Without him, John was having difficulty rallying them into any coherent plan of attack.

That was mostly Sam's fault. The younger son had possessed a hint of rebellion since youth. At first it had been dissatisfaction that Dean was in line to be Clan-Father and his wife would be the Clan-Mother. Sam had never hidden the fact that he thought himself more capable of guiding the Clan. When they lost Mary, Sam's attitude changed. Now that Dean was the Clan-Mother, Sam focused all of his displeasure on John. Whenever a voice raised a concern in Clan meetings, it was nearly always Sam. Sam found fault with every order and every plan, so it came as no surprise to John that his son twisted this impossible situation to reflect badly on him.

Ever since he had begun meeting with Lucifer, Sam had been spreading dissent among the Hunters. He had been telling them of his intention to break free of this prison, gathering like-minded members of the Clan to make it a more plausible possibility. He claimed he had the backing of one of the Angels. Didn’t take a genius to figure out who.

John didn’t trust any of it. Sam was a smart boy, but their hopeless situation was leading him to make poor decisions. None of the Angels were to be trusted. There was no way Lucifer’s plan would give the Hunters anything but death and John had said so, voice rising over Sam’s until they were both yelling at each other. Without Dean around to mediate, the arguments found no resolution. Instead the Clan split down the middle, siding with either Sam or John. The problem was, John had no idea of an alternative plan of escape. Sam’s plan was almost tempting because it was the only plan, but John refused to back an idea that would use his people as cannon-fodder. Dean would never forgive them.

“…humiliating us, abusing our Clan-Mother!” Sam shouted, standing in the corner of his cage to speak to all the Hunters with their faces pressed up against the bars. “It can’t go unpunished! We’ll storm from this dungeon and take Dean back and we’ll return to Earth-Country with Michael’s blood on my blade!”

“Are you sure about that?”

Every head turned at the quiet, calm voice of the King. John hadn’t even noticed the bastard until he spoke. He must have just appeared there, like the Angels had a habit of doing. With him stood Lucifer and Uriel. Uriel was a frequent unwelcome visitor to the dungeons.

Sam spent a moment looking like a man with a gun pointed his way, but recovered quickly and held his head high. John could be proud of that, at least. “I’m certain. I won’t rest until Dean is returned to us.” Kneeling by her husband, Jessica reached up and grasped his hand tightly.

Michael’s mouth quirked at the edge, as if he had almost learned to smile. Then he turned away from Sam and walked down the row of cages until he reached John’s. “I feel very much the same way,” he said loudly, his voice carrying through the room. “Dean is quite the prize, but elusive. I thought I had him. Imagine my surprise when I returned to find him gone and his guard expelled.”

John’s heart almost beat from his chest. He’d forgotten what hope felt like. “That’s what you get for underestimating my son.”

Michael leaned down to the bars. In a much quieter, lower voice intended for John’s ears only, he said, “I thought he’d sleep longer after the potion I gave him and the _hours_ of vigorous fornication.”

“YOU BASTARD!”

He dove at the bars, shoving his arms through to throttle the Archangel that had dared to touch his boy. Michael smiled as he grabbed John’s wrists and pressed them together so hard that the Clan-Father could actually feel the bones grinding against each other. 

“Dad!” Even after weeks of slander, there was panic in Sam’s voice as his father was driven to his knees.

“I have warned Dean what would happen if he left,” Michael said, voice still deadly calm. “His co-operation ensures the wellbeing of his Clan. For every day that he hides from me, one of you will pay the price.”

“We would all gladly die to keep him away from you,” John growled.

But still Michael smiled serenely. “We’ll see how many Hunters I cut through before I encounter one that says otherwise.”

Over the glow of the Angel blade, John met his son’s eyes and knew that Sam would do whatever he had to do. For Dean, rather than the Clan.

That would have to be enough, because with a slash of an Angel blade, Sam became Clan-Father.

*

Castiel had been banished before. Back in the Demon War, centuries ago, one of the more enterprising younger Demons called Crowley had discovered sigils and wards that could be used to entrap or expel Angels. As Castiel's garrison approached the tower where the Archangel Raphael valiantly fought their foes, they had paused to inspect a symbol painted on the wall in blood. They discarded it as nothing of interest and moved only a little further on before a Demon had appeared and put a hand to it. The sudden blast of burning light had haunted Castiel for a long time. At that late point of the battle, not all of his garrison had been strong enough to survive the sudden relocation. Even those who had survived were lost to Heaven for a long time. Balthazar had been gone for almost one-hundred years before finding his way home.

Luckily for Castiel, Dean's banishment did not send him so far. The Angel fell from the light and hit the dusty floor of Haven in Earth-Country. For a few moments he sat there, bewildered and pained. The expulsion had burned away some of his grace, which ached. He rose to his feet and looked around.

Earth-Country was a sad sight now. There were signs of past life laying abandoned all around. Burnt, crumbled huts and tents. Discarded weapons. Clothes hanging from lines strung between the trees, splashed with blood. Some Purgatory beast must have prowled through the camp, as the corpses of slain Hunters had been stripped of their meat.

It was utterly silent. Castiel put his hands together and sent a prayer to his Father. He needed forgiveness. They had made a terrible mistake.

Eyes wet with unshed tears, Castiel gathered his composure and stretched his wings. This could never be made right, but perhaps there was some redemption to be found. Dean had been hurt. His Clan were still in danger. Castiel might not be able to make a difference but he would not sit back and watch with apathy, like Gabriel. He would do his best to set things right. He felt it was what their Father would want, even if Michael had chosen a different path.

As he flew back to Heaven, Castiel wondered where Dean had found the book that had taught him the banishing symbol. He did not have it prior to their dungeon visit, so that would suggest one of the Hunters had passed it to him. But where did they obtain such a text? Angels had taken all literature depicting them away from the Demons and had been certain that the Hunters possessed nothing but a few allusions to Angelic existence. The only way the Hunters could have obtained knowledge of Angel banishing sigils was through another Angel.

Thinking on the logical problems allowed Castiel to keep his thoughts neutral for much of the flight back to Heaven, but emotional contemplation of Dean was inevitable. Dean had taken up so much of his thoughts recently that Castiel’s mind had developed a habit of returning to him whenever more pressing ideas didn’t engage him. Even in Castiel’s meditation and trances Dean had appeared before him with a smile on his lips and nothing but freckles covering his skin. The fact that Dean had been the one to send Castiel away was painful. Dean had clearly realised Castiel’s unwitting complicity in Michael’s scheme. Had Michael harmed him badly?

Thoughts of Dean’s blood painting the wall moved Castiel’s wings faster. Dean might have banished him, but it was very unlikely the Hunter would manage to evade Michael for long. Castiel had no intention of allowing Dean to come to further harm.

He flew low as he reached Heaven, looking across the waterways, fields and forests in an attempt to spot a guard patrol. If Dean had escaped the palace, Angels would be combing the area for him. Since Castiel could see no search taking place, he had to assume that Dean remained in the palace. Perhaps he had not even escaped his chamber, considering the state he was in. Castiel tried not to think on it too much as he landed outside the gates of Michael’s palace. If Dean had escaped, he most likely would have gone straight to the dungeons to find his Clan. Castiel should start his search there. 

As he moved to open the large gate, Castiel noticed a smudge of red across the stone wall. He rubbed his finger across it and found it tacky against his skin. Blood. 

Immediately he was examining the vicinity and following the trail he found. It led him further around the wall, sinking lower and lower until…

“Dean?”

The Hunter was slumped behind an unruly hedge, naked and bloody. Even in the darkness Castiel was able to see Dean was deathly pale. Pressing his hand to the man’s face, he found him far below the correct temperature for a Hunter. Castiel shrugged off his long, tan robe and wrapped it around Dean, who began to stir.

Blinking sleepily up at him, Dean murmured, “Cas?”

Castiel rubbed his hands up and down Dean’s back and arms, hoping to transfer some heat to the Clan-Mother’s body. “I am here, Dean. You are safe.”

Dean shook his head and tried to fight Castiel’s grasp. “No, no, you’re Michael’s bitch, you… you drugged me. Fuckin’ _trusted_ you, you dick…”

It was no struggle to hold Dean firm, not after the ordeal the Hunter had been through. Dean’s struggles were weak and his eyes were glazed, his speech slurred and disjointed. The potion that Michael had requested Castiel put in Dean’s bath was clearly still affecting him. The only symptom that had faded was his docility, replaced by understandable aggravation.

“I didn’t know, Dean. He’s my King, I never would have imagined he would do such terrible things.” Though the signs had been there for a while, now that Castiel looked back on it all.

“I _trusted_ you!” Dean cried out again, distressed, trying to hit at Castiel but only flailing weakly at his chest. “I knew not to and I kept trying not to but you were so fucking easy to talk to and… damn it, I wanted you so bad…”

Emotions of any intensity were relatively new to Castiel, but he hated whatever it was he felt in that moment. It was as though his chest twisted in response to Dean’s admission and the knowledge that Dean had thought of him in the way that Castiel liked to think of Dean. Despite all of that, Castiel had betrayed him without even realising. Dean had cared for him and Castiel had passed him to Michael.

Castiel pulled the Hunter into a tighter embrace, not knowing how to correct the situation or even how to explain himself in a way that would satisfy Dean. “I didn’t know, I swear to you, please. Had I known what he intended, I would never have left you with him.”

Dean lifted his right hand and Castiel expected another weak strike. Instead, the Hunter ran his knuckles over Castiel’s cheek. “You’re crying.”

In amazement, Castiel put his hand to his own cheek where Dean’s fingers had been. He felt the dampness and held his fingers up to look at them glisten. “That’s never happened before.”

For a moment, Dean just stared at him. Then he shook his head. “Know what? I’m too fuckin’ tired. If you’re gonna give me back, just do it and get it over with. Maybe I should just say yes to Michael, tell ‘im I’ll get the Clan to convert and then at least they’ll be free.”

“No,” Castiel growled, surprising himself with his aversion to the idea. From the very beginning of Michael’s crusade he had known it was wrong, known that the Hunters were an innovative and intelligent people who deserved to live in peace. But he had called that knowledge doubt and locked it away, believing Michael’s agenda of religious salvation. No longer. “We will find a way to free your people.”

Dean sighed wearily, sagging down deeper in Castiel’s arms. “I can’t do this anymore, I just can’t. They need me to save them and…” With a choked sob, Dean pressed his face to Castiel’s shoulder. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t even save myself.”

“You don’t have to,” Castiel said quietly, the words falling like an oath from his lips. He shifted his grip on Dean so that he could slide an arm beneath his legs, then stood up and lifted him. Dean was barely conscious against him, but the movement woke him somewhat.

“The Clan,” he said, reaching out for the palace wall. “I can’t leave them, we have to go back.”

“Not like this. You need rest and healing.”

“Cas, no,” Dean hooked his fingers around one of the stones in the palace wall. “Take me to them, please.”

At that moment, a voice rang out in the courtyard. Michael. “I want him found! He can’t have gone far. If any of you harm a hair on his head I will have you thrown in the dark with the Hunters! Go!”

The sound of feathers startled Castiel into action. Supporting Dean’s weight with one arm, he pressed his fingers to the Clan-Mother’s forehead and willed Dean into sleep. The Hunter released his grip on the wall and his arm fell limp. Castiel flew them both quickly to one place he hoped they could find help, though he was not terribly optimistic.

He appeared in Gabriel’s living room without warning. The Archangel was having his feet massaged by a woman with miniscule hands. When he saw Castiel, the Prince groaned and clicked his fingers. The woman vanished.

“You kidnapped Dean.”

“What? No! I found him.”

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Okay, well let’s send him back to Michael before more Hunters get slaughtered.”

Castiel sighed. He should have known Gabriel would suggest obedience. “I am not returning him in his current state.”

“Well then we’re going to see a lot more dead Hunters.”

As Gabriel stood from the sofa to inspect Dean, Castiel took advantage of the empty space and lay Dean down across it. “Michael is not deranged. He won’t murder Hunters simply because he can’t find Dean.”

“He started with the Clan-Father.”

There was no sign of mirth on Gabriel’s face, no sign that it was a sick joke.

“What?”

“When Deano vanished, Michael took it out on the Clan. I think he hoped Dean would go back to prevent further bloodshed.”

“That is madness!”

Gabriel shrugged. “Yeah, well I guess you could say our King’s crazy about the Clan-Mother. You have to give him back, Castiel.”

“He’s hurt,” Castiel said quietly, imploring Gabriel with his eyes to do what was right.

“Oh, for…” Gabriel interrupted himself with a huff and knelt down beside the sofa. He took hold of Dean’s bloodied arm and Castiel was satisfied to see the flesh knit together even faster than it would have done through the application of his own damaged grace. Gabriel frowned a little as he drew his hand back. “He’s under the influence of something.”

“Michael bade me add a concoction to his bath. Is it poison?” The thought was almost too much to bear. 

“It would have been, if it went unchecked. Luckily you brought him to me.”

“You are the most capable healer we have.”

One hand rested on Dean’s chest, Gabriel’s grace sending a pulsing glow through the Hunter. The Archangel looked up at Castiel without a smile. “That’s not the only reason you came here.”

“No, it isn’t. I thought to ask you once more if you would champion their cause.”

Gabriel’s jaw clenched and he looked away. “Why? Why would you dare ask me that again? You do remember I’m your Prince, right? An Archangel? Why do you think it’s okay for you to bring your pet cause to me again when I’ve already told you I want nothing to do with it?”

“Because I fear I will fail if I attempt it alone and the Hunters deserve to be saved.”

In response to that, Gabriel sighed and said, “You don’t get it, do you? Michael wants them as slaves and Lucifer wants them dead. You’re talking about getting between the two of them and snatching the toy they’re fighting over. That’s what you’re asking me to do.”

“You risked their displeasure when you refused to go to war.”

“And they took my troops anyway,” Gabriel replied. “So what does that tell you about their opinion of my opinion?”

“I don’t recall seeing any of your troops slay a Hunter,” Castiel went on. “It was almost as though their orders differed from everyone else’s.” Balthazar had made vague references to Gabriel’s distaste for the war and given that Balthazar was to Gabriel what Castiel was to Michael, the younger Angel felt the information was reliable.

“They’re fun little people. Seemed a shame to tear them apart. I used to like playing with them.” Oh yes, there had been rumours about Gabriel’s wanderings, though most of them assumed he had been playing on the Purgatory Isles. Earth-Country had never seemed interesting to the majority of Angels. 

“Were you the one to give them knowledge of banishing sigils?” Castiel asked. If Gabriel had bestowed such knowledge on past Hunters it would explain how Dean came to possess the book.

But Gabriel looked confused. “What, for expelling us? Hell no. I’m not stupid. They know how to banish us?”

“Dean has a book that provides specifics. I believe it was passed to him by one of the Hunters in the dungeon, as he has been reading it since our visit. But no matter. Gabriel, I know that you care for the fate of the Hunters and…” Castiel stopped speaking as Gabriel held up a hand to silence him. 

“It _does_ matter, Castiel. It matters a lot. If the Hunters were given that book by an Angel, it can’t have been too long ago. Someone wanted this to happen. They wanted Dean to try and escape.”

“So someone else is sympathetic to their plight?” Castiel asked. Had he been too rash in condemning his peers for what he perceived as a lack of empathy?

“I don’t think so,” Gabriel said, deep in thought. “There’s no way Dean could escape from Heaven without being assisted by Angels. Someone wanted him to try and fail. But I don’t see…” The Archangel trailed off. Then suddenly he snapped his attention back to Castiel. “I have some things to check up on. I’ll be back. Just wait here and don’t answer the door if anyone comes knocking.”

Before Castiel could say anything, Gabriel had flapped his golden wings and vanished.

“I’ll just…wait here then,” he said to the room, which was empty aside from Dean’s sleeping body. Castiel sat down beside the sofa and admitted to himself that really he didn’t like to be anywhere these days that was not by Dean’s side. Michael had complimented him on his devotion to duty, but Castiel knew it was not duty that led his thoughts to dwell on Dean.

It was perhaps an hour or so later when Dean woke. The time had been uneventful. No Angels had come to search for Dean here. Gabriel’s palace, though smaller than the other two, was still intimidating. Most Angels were not desperate enough to approach an Archangel with anything but flattery.

“Cas?”

“Dean, you’re awake. How do you feel?”

“Like I had a massive hangover that’s mostly gone away.” Dean sat up and pushed down the tan robe that Castiel had left draped over him as a blanket. “I’m naked. Uh…”

“I assume you fled as soon as you woke and were not coherent enough to cover yourself.”

For a while, Dean was silent. He stared at the end of the sofa without really looking at anything. Clearly he was trying to gather his memories of the previous night. Eventually Dean turned and put his feet on the floor, still keeping the robe covering his genitals. It seemed rather pointless, as Castiel had already seen them, but he kept silent on the matter. 

“Where are we?”

“Gabriel’s palace. I brought you here to be healed. I also wished to request his assistance in freeing the Hunters.”

Slowly, Dean nodded. “I remember you saying you wanted to help. But I also seem to recall you dosing my bath with something freaky and letting Michael have his wicked way with me.”

“Had I known what he intended I would never have agreed to it. He lied to me, told me the potion would make you feel better. It never occurred to me that he saw you in that way.”

“What way?” Dean asked, glaring.

Castiel took a deep breath and said, “The way I do.”

For a few moments, Dean didn’t seem to know what to say. But the silence couldn’t last forever. “And how do you see me?”

“You have the most perfect soul I have ever seen. The most beautiful eyes… your voice lifts my spirits when I wasn’t even aware my spirits were low. You mystify and intrigue me and make me wish for things I am forbidden to think of. I have never been so sure of right and wrong as I am right now. I could never have imagined that I could be so certain in my disobedience. Understand that I don’t expect you to forgive me for my part in this, but I hope I can earn back enough of your trust that you’ll let me help you.”

Dean was staring at him and Castiel wasn’t certain of the emotion behind it. That made him nervous and he fidgeted under the heavy gaze of those green eyes. 

“It’s not like I’m spoiled for options right now,” Dean said with a little shrug. “Besides, I don’t think… I mean, this is probably gonna come back and bite me on the ass, but I don’t think you knew what Michael wanted. Hell, I don’t think you know what _you_ want half the time.”

“I think I know. Recently, anyway.”

They stared into one another’s eyes for a few moments. Castiel hoped his thoughts were clear, as he wouldn’t insult Dean by sounding blunt and insistent. The Clan-Mother had been through enough without having to worry about Castiel’s desires as well. 

Castiel stepped further away from the sofa. “I will try to find you some clothing.”

Turning away from Dean, Castiel almost walked straight into Gabriel, who had reappeared without a sound. 

“So, we have a problem,” the Archangel said, clapping his hands together.

“Can it wait one moment? I was just about to find something for Dean to wear.”

Gabriel clicked his fingers and suddenly Dean was wearing his Clan-Mother outfit. Even the red scarf and white robe were there. Dean stood from the sofa and handed Castiel’s tan robe back to him. 

“What’s the problem?”

“I think that book you got came from Lucifer.”

“What? Why?” Dean seemed shocked and confused. “I thought Lucifer hated us.”

“Oh Castiel, haven’t you caught him up on goings-on around here? Honestly, I have to do everything myself.” Gabriel turned back to Dean and began explaining himself, waving his hands around in grand gesticulations. “Lucifer and Michael are sick of each other. Lucifer would probably happily see Michael dead at this point and vice versa. But while Michael’s got the power he isn’t going to do anything to upset the Angels like, say, killing his own brother. Lucifer has a small following, but nowhere near enough to stage a takeover _or so I thought_. Seems times are changing. I’ve just been out and about in various guises, talking to a few folk, and it sounds like support for the Morningstar has been increasing lately.”

“He is rallying Angels around him,” Castiel realised. “But to what end? And what does this have to do with the book?”

“Michael hasn’t been himself since we captured the Hunters. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. His interest in Dean became obsession early on.” At Gabriel’s words, Dean shifted awkwardly. Castiel reached out and squeezed his shoulder gently. Gabriel continued to speak. “Lucy’s been encouraging it. He’s given him questionable books about Hunter culture, he’s made snide comments about Dean.”

“Has he?” Dean asked.

“Trust me kid, you don’t want to know. The point is, Lucifer has been keeping Michael focused on Dean. If Michael’s busy obsessing over his Hunter pet, Lucifer can take advantage of it. He can convince other Angels that Michael’s not fit to rule.”

“But surely Lucifer would still lack the necessary numbers to take the crown,” Castiel mused. “Many remain loyal to Michael. His conquest of the Hunters won him much respect.”

“Not among us,” Dean snapped, shaming Castiel back into silence.

“Ah.” Gabriel pointed dynamically at Dean. “Now that brings us to the Hunters, who apparently, are taking presents from Lucifer like that little book you had. What does that tell you?”

Castiel was distracted from the question by the sudden stricken look on Dean’s face. Only when the Hunter spoke, did he realise the implications of Gabriel’s words.

“They’re in league with Lucifer. He’s won over the Hunters. Shit… Dad must be desperate to strike up a deal with him. No way Lucifer has our best interests at heart. I’ve seen enough of the guy to know he’s a psycho.” 

Gabriel licked his lips nervously and glanced at Castiel. “Uh, Castiel didn’t tell you?”

“I didn’t want to upset him while he was recovering,” Castiel explained. It was only partially the reason. In all honesty, the idea of upsetting Dean at all was so unappealing that he had been unable to bring himself to tell the Hunter what had happened.

“Tell me what?” Dean turned to him, looking for answers. “Cas?”

“Michael took your escape poorly. He decided to make his displeasure known through the execution of your father. I’m sorry.”

Dean sank back down onto the sofa, devastated. Castiel could not imagine his pain, but assumed it was comparable to the loss all Angels had experienced when Father left them. Worse, most likely, as Father might yet return whereas John Winchester would not be able to accomplish such a feat. Castiel longed to comfort Dean, to pull the Hunter into his arms, but he felt that such comfort would not be welcomed from an Angel. Not when the Angels were responsible for all of Dean’s pain.

“I’m assuming this makes your brother the Clan-Father,” Gabriel said, pressing on with the matter at hand. Dean nodded, but remained silenced by his grief. Gabriel raised an eyebrow at Castiel. “Kinda coincidental, wouldn’t you say? Considering we all saw Lucifer drag him off to learn his lesson over a month ago.”

“Dad tried to warn me,” Dean said, his voice a low mumble. “He said Lucifer wasn’t hurting Sam. I was just relieved to hear he wasn’t being tortured. I didn’t think.”

“Even with the Hunters,” Castiel said, “Lucifer surely doesn’t have enough of an army to topple Michael. The Hunters are an unpredictable foe, but a small Angel force would be capable of stopping them quickly. There must be more to Lucifer’s plan.”

Gabriel nodded. “I agree. Perhaps they have some sort of trick up their sleeve? Something they didn’t have the chance to use against us during the invasion?”

Both Angels looked over at Dean expectantly, but the Clan-Mother just shrugged. “I don’t know. All I know is that my Clan will be slaughtered if Lucifer pits them against Michael’s army. I can’t sit back and let that happen. Dad would expect me to stop this somehow.”

“Okay.” Gabriel nodded. “I’ll head back out and see if I can find out anything new. But if you remember anything that might be useful to us, you let me know.”

Dean agreed to do so and Gabriel left them alone in his home once more. At a loss as to the correct behaviour, Castiel slowly approached the sofa and sat down beside Dean. He racked his brains for the appropriate mourning ritual. Years of studying Hunter culture and at a vital moment, he could remember none of it.

It seemed that sitting in silence was acceptable.

A tear slid down Dean’s cheek and dripped onto his robe. Castiel reached out, hoping he was not crossing some sort of line, and took hold of the Hunter’s hand.

Dean’s hand turned so that their palms met and their fingers threaded together. Nothing needed to be said.

*

Michael’s rage was like a storm, sweeping Heaven with a voice like thunder and flashes of grace like lightning. Angels scattered before him, fearful and frantic. It had been a long time since Michael’s temper had been so uncontrolled – not since the war against the Demons, when Raphael was slain. Even then his rage had been focused. Embroiled in battle against the Hellspawn, he had unleashed his righteous fury upon them. Today it spilled out of him and attacked the Angels he would have help him.

 _Damn_ Dean Winchester. Michael would chain him for this, so that he might never escape again.

Pausing in the hall, the King leaned on the wall for support as his mind was assaulted with the image of the Clan-Mother chained to his throne.

“You haven’t found him yet, then?”

Michael narrowed his eyes at Lucifer. “No, I have not. The search would move much quicker with your assistance.”

“Hey now, I don’t see you pestering Gabriel for help. In fact,” Lucifer tapped at his chin in thought, “I haven’t seen baby brother for a while.”

It was true, Gabriel had been notably absent from court of late. Michael assumed it was due to the Hunters. Gabriel had been against their war from the start, too weak to heed Father’s will and save the Hunters from their heathen ways. He still persisted in his foolish ideas of pacifism. As if Father would reward his apathy and cowardice.

“I will fetch Gabriel to assist in the search, but do not think his contribution removes the need for yours, Lucifer. Continue looking. Search everywhere!”

Lucifer nodded, still with that damn serene smile on his face. Michael’s misfortune amused him, it seemed.

With a flutter of his large black wings, Michael flew from his palace and crossed the distance to Gabriel’s home. It took no time at all for an Archangel. This time he chose not to knock, simply appearing in his brother’s decadent living room.

Castiel and Dean sat together on the sofa. Their eyes widened when they saw him. Castiel immediately stood, putting himself between Michael and his beloved.

“What is the meaning of this?” Michael asked calmly. Castiel had been devoted to him for a long time. He ought to have a chance to explain himself.

“Dean was wounded by your actions. I found him and decided that he was safer away from you.” Castiel hesitated before adding, “My Lord.”

“You are wrong,” Michael replied calmly. “I treated Dean exactly how he desired.”

At that, the little Hunter entered the fray, jumping to his feet and brimming over with rage. “You drugged me and raped me, you son of a bitch! I didn’t _desire_ any of it!”

Michael smiled at the stubbornness. “Of course not. It’s alright, Dean, we can pretend your willingness was entirely the product of the potion…”

“It was!”

“…And not an effect of your forced celibacy these past months. I know how much it must have grated on you, Clan-Mother. Your people are sexually liberal and you are so used to pleasing them that your isolation would have been a terrible shock. Forgive me for that, I hadn’t realised.”

Dean gaped at him for a moment before finding his voice. “Who the fuck have you been talking to?”

“Lucifer has been giving him inappropriate and misleading literature,” Castiel said.

“Little brother, you glorify these creatures, but they’re base. They have such simple needs. I’m beginning to suspect it is useless to try and save them. Perhaps it would be better just to sate them, to train them to obey with positive reinforcement.”

“You speak of sexual slavery,” Castiel said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “My Lord, can’t you hear yourself? What’s happened to you?”

Michael fanned his wings and in a blink of the eye he stood beside Dean, cupping the Hunter’s face in one hand. “I found revelation. It was what I sought when we conquered the Hunters, but only when I conquered this specific Hunter did I find it.”

“Get your hands off me.” The revulsion on Dean’s face did not bother Michael in the least. He knew how to be rid of it, knew which touches would lead Dean to moan with pleasure and part his thighs like a whore.

“Please, Michael,” Castiel begged. “The Hunters are worthy of a better life than that. They deserve to be free.”

“Your disobedience is beginning to trouble me, Castiel.”

He expected the younger Angel to recoil and apologise, but though Castiel flinched, he regained his composure quickly. “That word is losing its power over me. Disobedience is a necessary evil at the moment. Your judgement is impaired, my Lord.”

“Castiel, are you telling me that you will not _permit_ me to take the Clan-Mother?”

Dean watched Castiel nervously. Eventually the lesser Angel nodded. “That’s correct. Dean deserves more than…”

Michael interrupted him with an open palm against the chest, shoving Castiel violently across the room so that he crashed into the opposite wall, leaving a large dent in Gabriel’s lavish décor. The Angel stumbled to his feet and brandished his sword. It was a truly pathetic sight.

“Put that away before you hurt yourself. You’ve served me well, Castiel. I would rather not execute you.”

“You will have to before you take Dean from me,” Castiel replied, his dark wings fluttering around him. He was still weak from the banishment. It would truly be no fight at all.

Still, if Castiel insisted on finishing this in violence…

When Michael stepped forward, there was a tug on his arm as Dean tried to stop him. “Don’t. Please!”

“Adorable.” Michael reached out and pressed his fingers to Dean’s forehead. The Hunter crumpled to the floor as sleep suddenly overtook him. Michael sheathed his blade and lifted the Hunter into his arms.

“No!”

With a thought he flung Castiel away again. “Be grateful my beloved wants you unharmed and that I am gracious enough to indulge him.” He turned away with Dean held close to his body and fanned out his wings for flight. “Be warned though that if I see you near him again, I will have you executed for treason.”

Michael returned to his own bedchamber with his precious burden. Dean would remain here from now on. Michael would spoil him with treasures and sexual satisfaction until Dean forgot he even had a Clan. They would rule the Angels together.

He lay the Hunter down on the bed and sat beside him, idly tracing the Clan-Mother’s full lips with his finger and wondering how barbarians could create such divinity.

Then the peaceful moment was shattered by the sound of war bells.

They were under attack.

*

Since Uriel walked through the dungeon unlocking the cages Sam had been experiencing doubts. But all the drawbacks of this plan were outweighed by the single advantage – it was the only chance they had.

Still, he had shed tears when Jess stood before Lucifer and allowed him to remove her anti-possession tattoo. The pretty little tattoo that Dean had painstakingly drawn onto her only a few years before. It had been a wedding present, a stylised version of a necessary mark. Jess had smiled at Sam over Dean’s shoulder the entire time he was working. Today, in the dungeon, she had stared at him fearfully while he promised all of the Clan that he knew what he was doing.

Once Uriel had released them all, they poured from the dungeon. A horde of possessed Hunters. Lucifer’s secret army, with the skill of Hunters and the power of Demons.

Not all of the Clan had been on-board with the idea. The older Hunters were the most vehement in their objections, still clinging to his father’s memory and resenting him for taking the man’s place. Bobby had scared a few Hunters off of the plan, telling them a first-hand account of Demon possession. In the end, it didn’t matter. Bobby, Ellen, Rufus, all of the Hunters they dissuaded, they still had to follow the plan. Uriel just held them down while Lucifer worked to remove their protective marks.

When they were back in Earth-Country, breathing fresh air again, the Clan would forgive him. They would understand he had done what was necessary for them. They might even respect him more for it.

“Sam.”

He turned to Lucifer. They were out of the dungeon now, stood in the lower levels of the palace where the light was bright enough to hurt Sam’s eyes. The Morningstar was wearing what the Angels considered to be full battle gear – Silver breastplate, shoulder and armguards made of that strange red mineral that seemed to sparkle, and normal cloth trousers. Lucifer’s blade was already dripping with blood. In his other hand he held a small jar full of crimson, which he offered to Sam. Demon blood.

Taking the jar, he glanced around to make sure his Clan didn’t see. They had been livid with him back in Earth-Country when he began consuming the essence of their enemies. So livid that he had been forced to quit it. He could understand their anger, but needs must. 

“Don’t worry about them,” Lucifer said with a smirk. “They’re not your Clan at the moment, remember?”

As Jo and Ava tore into an Angel guard unfortunate enough to enter the corridor, Sam saw their eyes turn black and realised it was the truth. None of the Clan would be able to judge him yet.

The blood tasted just like ordinary blood, but there was an amazing power to it. It was unlike any Demon blood Sam had drunk before. “Where did you get that?”

“An ally loaned it to me,” Lucifer replied. “Should make you more of a match for my brother.”

“You’re coming with me, right?” Even with the blood, Sam wasn’t certain he could face down an Archangel.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. I need to co-ordinate my forces. You could wait for me, but I thought you’d rather play the hero to your brother’s damsel in distress. Michael returned to the palace with him not long ago, he can’t have hurt him terribly yet.”

“Which way?” Sam asked.

Lucifer lifted an arm and pointed to the left. “Down that way. You remember where the banquet hall is. Turn right after that where the corridor splits then left at the next branch. Up those stairs. I believe Michael has Dean in his bedchamber. He’s quite taken with him.”

Sam growled and sprinted off in the direction he had been told with the intention of ripping Michael to pieces. He ran past Jess, ignored the Demonic darkness in her eyes. 

It was the only thing he could do.

*

Dean woke in Michael’s bed, flinching away from the fingers that had reached for his head some unknown time ago. It took a moment for him to figure out where he was and to realise that actually, his flinch was somewhat redundant.

“Motherfucker.”

He patted himself down, wondering what liberties the bastard had taken with his body this time. Everything seemed fine and Dean’s panicked breaths calmed down a little. Maybe Michael drew the line at somnophilia. Kind of an arbitrary line for him to draw, but Angels were freaky bastards.

Some sort of weird ringing noise was really starting to get on his nerves. Was it an alarm of some kind? Had Michael gone to deal with that?

Realising the son of a bitch could return at any moment, Dean got up from the bed and thought about escape. He tried the door without much hope and sure enough, it was locked up tight. Determined to get out, he picked up the heavy wooden chair by the desk and heaved it at one of the tall stain-glass windows. The chair bounced off with a dull thud and broke apart on the stone floor.

Momentarily berating himself for what he was about to do, Dean closed his eyes and called out. “Gabriel? I think I know something!”

The Archangel Prince appeared before him without the sound of feathers Dean had expected. “Dean, what are you doing here? Is Castiel okay?”

“I hope so, but I don’t know. Take me to him?”

Gabriel winced. “You don’t know what’s going on, do you?”

“Oh fuck, who’s dead this time?”

“A lot of people. A lot of Angels, lot of Hunters, a lot of Demons. Lucifer’s waging war and he’s using your Clan to do it. Can’t you hear the bells?”

“That’s what that means?” Dean ran a hand back through his hair, reassessing the situation. “And did you say Demons?” The only way this situation could get any worse.

“I’m sorry. I should have figured it out sooner. Only an Angel could have removed the tattoo from your Clan buddy. Now they’re all carrying Demons and slaughtering my kin.”

“You could’ve done more than figure it out,” Dean snapped. “You’re a friggin’ Archangel. You could have put a stop to all of this by helping the Clan instead of hiding away in your palace.” Gabriel glowered, but didn’t argue. Dean sighed. “Okay, get me to my chamber so I can grab that book. There’s something in there we might need.”

With a click of Gabriel’s fingers, they appeared in the bedchamber where Dean had originally stayed. He looked around for the book, unsure where he’d left it. Only when he’d thrown all the blankets off of the bed did his gaze stray over to the doorway, where the book lay in a sticky puddle of dried blood by the banishing sigil he had painted on the wall.

“Don’t touch that,” Gabriel said, wrinkling his nose as Dean approached the symbol.

“Relax, I’m not gonna banish you.” 

Dean bent down and picked up the book, picking at the pages where the blood had sealed them together and searching for the interesting bit he had seen earlier. 

“So what’s the something we might need?”

As Gabriel asked, Dean found the page. He looked at the four small drawings then held the book up to Gabriel. “I’ve seen those before in Earth-Country. My friend Bobby kept all sorts of artefacts and spell components in the Look-Out. If you’re not going to fight your brothers, I’m gonna need these.”

Gabriel looked sour for a moment before nodding. “Fine.”

“Can you take me to Castiel before you go?”

“Do I look like your ride?” Gabriel asked, incredulous. “Ugh, alright.”

They appeared in the living room of Gabriel’s palace. The Archangel groaned. “Look at this place. Michael has no respect for my interior decoration.”

“Cas?” Dean called out, hoping the Angel would appear before him unharmed.

“He’s not here. He must have joined the fight in the palace. Looking for you, no doubt.”

“Well, can you find him?” He wasn’t even sure why anymore. He would probably be better off trying to figure out some way to help the Clan, exorcising as many Demons as possible. But he would just feel better if Cas was by his side. 

“In this chaos?” Gabriel said, gesturing into the air at something Dean couldn’t see. “There’s a war going on! There’s grace everywhere! I can’t distinguish Castiel’s little spark from anyone else’s right now.”

“Okay, take me back to the palace. I’ll find him myself.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Yes, my Lord, of course, my Lord, would you like to fetch you something to eat while I’m at it?”

Before Dean could snark back at him they were outside the palace gates. It sounded like utter anarchy in there, worse than any battle Dean had heard. 

“Right, I’m going to go find that treasure,” Gabriel said. “You hunt down Castiel and stick to him like glue.” Gabriel turned away, then turned back. “And listen, because it’s getting too late in the day for miscommunication and tiptoeing around the issue, Castiel is in love with you. You probably can’t see it because it looks different in Hunters. But he’s crazy about you and as an Angel, he doesn’t know what to do about it. You’re gonna have to do something about that.”

Again, before Dean could say a word in response, Gabriel had vanished. It was probably just as well, since he didn’t have a clue how to react.

He pushed thoughts of it to the back of his mind and ventured through the palace gates. There’d be no point thinking about it at all if they didn’t survive the day.

*

Castiel’s senses were stretched to their full capacity as he moved through the battlefield, but it did him no good. Dean could have been metres away or in another realm and Castiel would have been none the wiser. While the Angels fought their grace was in turmoil. It filled Heaven with a cloud of grief and power and rage, clouding their senses.

Dean’s soul would surely shine through it all though, if Castiel could only get near enough to find him. The palace was rife with skirmishes and death, but Castiel pushed it all aside. He had to find Dean.

“Castiel!”

He turned in time to see his sister Rachel dragged to the floor by Hunters. Castiel rushed over and pulled them away, flinging the possessed creatures down the hall. One of them had long blonde hair and when it snarled Castiel was shocked to realise it was Jess, wife of the new Clan-Father. She lashed at him with a blade and sliced down his arm. Rachel grabbed the Hunter’s head.

“Wait!” Castiel shouted.

“For what?” Rachel shouted back as the possessed woman thrashed and shrieked against her.

“We can’t kill them, they… just hold her firm!”

Rachel did as she was told, despite her confusion. They had flown together many times and she trusted him, even as he began to chant the mysterious words he had heard Dean use in the dungeon. 

As he completed the chant, the Demon poured from Jess’ body. Quicker than Castiel could see, Rachel plunged her sword upwards into the cloud, searing the Demon with holy light and ensuring it couldn’t possess another Hunter.

Jess sagged into Rachel’s arms but quickly began to stir. “Sam?” She blinked as she came around fully. Castiel could see the dawning terror as she realised she was in the company of Angels.

“Don’t fear,” he said as gently as he could. “We’re not going to hurt you. You need to get to safety.”

She shook her head. “I need to get to Sam. This is all going wrong, I can feel it. It was a terrible idea. We should never have listened to Lucifer but… what else were we supposed to do while Dean was at Michael’s mercy?”

“You’re the Clan-Mother-in-training, aren’t you?” Rachel asked Jess. “Can you draw the bodily marks that prevent possession?”

“Um, sort of? I mean, yes, I can, but they’re functional rather than attractive and I don’t have the stuff I would need…”

“I’ll get it for you,” Rachel said firmly. She looked up at Castiel. “I took note of your chant. Me and the Hunter will exorcise as many Demons as we can and try to save the remaining Hunters.”

“Thank you, Rachel,” Castiel said, grateful that his sister had needed so little time to recognise his primary concern in this battle.

“Don’t stand there thanking me, Castiel. Find Michael. Stop this.”

Castiel nodded and flew through the corridors, through the walls and ceilings, up to Dean’s chamber. But the Hunter was not there. Castiel was forced to consider the idea that Dean might have been taken to Michael’s chamber, that he may have already suffered through further indignities due to Castiel’s lack of haste.

Michael’s chamber and the surrounding corridors were warded in such a way that only the most powerful Angels were able to fly directly into it. Castiel had to run down the halls, panicked that every second was causing Dean more pain.

But as he neared the area of the palace that Michael claimed as his own, Castiel could hear sounds of a fight within. The door to Michael’s bedroom had been broken down and Castiel approached warily. 

“I won’t let you hurt my brother anymore!”

A series of loud crashes made Castiel step into the room, whereupon he saw Michael choking Sam, pinning him to the wall with one hand. The debris surrounding them was all that remained of the furniture. The fight had clearly been going on for some time.

“What do you think you can do?” Michael sneered. “Demon blood isn’t enough to make you my equal, even if it’s straight from their King’s veins. I will have your brother, though I will not hurt him. I will give him all the pleasures that any being can fathom. He will love me. And he will forget all of you.”

Michael’s hand tightened around Sam’s throat. Castiel stepped forward.

He should have called out to his Lord, questioned his actions and reasoned with his King. But Michael was about to murder Dean’s brother, so Castiel simply shoved his blade into his Lord’s heart. Michael didn’t look back to see his killer, merely screamed as holy light poured out of him, flooding the room with grace.

Sam slid to the floor, eyes scrunched shut against the blast of bright light.

“You should be alright now,” Castiel said, holding his hand out to help Sam up.

Although he eyed Castiel’s hand suspiciously, Sam did eventually take hold of it and accept the Angel’s assistance.

“Are you on Lucifer’s side?” Sam croaked.

Castiel put his hand to Sam’s neck. The Hunter flinched away, but it was enough time for Castiel to heal his bruises.

“I am on the Clan’s side,” Castiel said. “As I think you ought to be.”

*

It hadn’t taken long for Dean to wonder whether he was hopelessly out of his depth. He had barely entered the courtyard when Angelic combat forced him to take cover. There were blades being flung around, lightning was striking the ground, strange holy beams of light shining here, there and everywhere… He had been right in assuming this was nothing like the Demon war or the Angel invasion. This was on a totally different scale.

In the middle of all of this commotion, his Hunters were being possessed and slaughtered for the sake of Lucifer’s lust for power. 

Dean dove behind a low stone wall as a blast of radiance annihilated the nearby fountain. Also behind the wall with him was Ava, staring up at the ceiling with dead eyes, the meatsuit long discarded by whatever Demon had used her.

“Oh fuck,” Dean choked, closing the girl’s eyelids. He had one job to do. _One_. Look after the Clan. That was it, that was his purpose in life. He’d let them all down.

One of the towers erupted with light. It was bigger than any of the explosions Dean had seen so far and it seemed to still the battlefield for a moment. All combatants turned their gaze skyward, towards the glow.

“We are victorious!” Uriel roared. “All hail King Lucifer!”

Shell-shocked Angels still tried to fight, but their morale was clearly down the crapper. When Lucifer arrived on the scene, striding out of the palace like he owned all he surveyed, many Angels lay down their arms. The others were killed where they stood by his loyal followers.

“Michael is dead,” Lucifer said in a remarkably level tone. “It now falls to me to lead you. I will not repeat my brother’s mistakes. We will continue on in the manner that has served us well these past millennia. No Hunters should ever have been brought to Heaven.”

Well, that didn’t sound too bad. Perhaps the situation could be salvaged after all, if Lucifer sent the surviving Hunters back to Earth-Country.

“As you can see,” Lucifer continued with a grand sweep of his arm, “these creatures are vermin, carrying harmful parasites. The only way for us to move on is to destroy them. Smite the Demons.”

As one, the Angels swarmed to follow the order, leaping over the corpses of their kin to smite the possessed Hunters.

“No!” Dean cried out, jumping to his feet.

But someone tugged him back. “Hush you, do you want to die?”

“Balthazar?”

The Angel grinned as around them Hunters and Angels and Demons tore one another apart. “Who else?” He began rummaging in the pockets of his black court robe. “My Lord Gabriel asked me to fetch something for you while he worked his magic.” 

“You’ve got the…”

Before Dean could finish his question, Balthazar produced the four rings. They looked exactly like they did in the book. “Cute little rings? Yes, here you go.” He dropped them into Dean’s palm, where the rings stuck together like magnets. “Not to be too nosy here, but how will accessorising set anything straight?”

“These rings have the power to bind an Angel beneath the world.”

“Ah. I see. Rather handy, that.”

“Yeah. Wasn’t much point while Michael and Lucifer were both parading around being massive dicks, but now we’re down to one evil.”

“Just hurry up,” Balthazar said, uncharacteristically stressed as more Angels and Hunters died around them. “The more that die, the more that Gabriel has to put right.”

“What do you mean?” How the fuck could this massacre ever be put right?

“ _Go_!” Balthazar insisted, grabbing Dean. 

Suddenly they were looking at Lucifer’s back. Dean was startled by how close Balthazar had brought him, but when he tried to glare at him Balthazar was nowhere to be seen. Fucking coward.

“Dean.” Lucifer turned to smile at him. “My brother’s dear pet. He was quite frantic over your escape. I did so enjoy watching him lose his mind over you.”

“Why do I get the feeling you had more of a hand in that than we knew?”

Lucifer’s smile didn’t waver at the accusation. If anything, it grew. “Now, now. The guiltiest party here is your shiny soul and your tendency to dress as a whore.”

“These are my ritual clothes, you son of a bitch. I’ll grant you they’re not the most awesome thing I could be wearing, but it’s traditional. Not my fault your brother was a closeted nutjob.”

“I admit, I may have whispered one or two things in his ear, recommended an interesting book here and there. Michael’s imagination did the rest. I thought it would be harder to make him fall to your level. But enough of this. What could you possibly expect from me?”

“Call off your Angels. Help me exorcise my people. Then we’ll go home and you’ll never have to see us again.” Behind his back he ran his finger along the smooth, cold metal of the rings. Maybe he wouldn’t even have to use them.

“I don’t think so,” Lucifer said calmly. “I wasn’t exaggerating when I said you were all vermin. You don’t deserve to live. You’re pests. Fragile little annoyances who do nothing but breed, eat and carry Demons. And you stand before me, an arrogant little insect and you ask me to free you? I’ve done enough for you.”

So it was going to be like that. Lucifer lunged forward and grabbed Dean by the neck before the Hunter could react. He flung him to the ground and Dean cried out as his head cracked against stone. 

“We should have killed you all,” Lucifer said, looking down on Dean like someone examining a monster’s waste. “It would have been the kinder course of action, rather than bringing you here, giving you things and letting you think you could ever improve.”

Dean forced a carefree grin and shrugged as best he could. “I did like the book you got me though. Full of ideas.”

And he threw the four rings at Lucifer’s feet.

The world collapsed around him.

*

Wherever he walked there was death. Here an Angel on her own blade, there a Hunter burned from the inside by a smiting.

Gabriel decided to give up on walking. It was bringing him down. 

He materialised on top of Michael’s palace, where he could look out over the destruction. The view wasn’t much better. Lucy had really gone overboard this time. That was brothers for you, always escalating.

Then there was always the poor mediator, trying to clean up their mess. Gabriel was honestly tired of them relying on him for that, had been for some time now. That was why he was so determined to stay out of this one from the beginning. Somehow he had convinced himself that his disapproval would mean something to those cosmic egos.

With a heavy sigh, Gabriel sat down cross-legged atop the roof of the highest tower and began focusing his grace. Too much was riding on this one. He had to get it right.

He had half an eye on the situation down on the ground when Dean bravely stepped up to Lucifer. Oh, Castiel would be wrapped around this kid’s finger in no time.

It hurt to feel Lucifer fall, just as it had when Michael was slain, but Gabriel bore the grief knowing that they started all of this. Besides, they would find their way home eventually. Maybe Father would have a chat with them on the way.

A moment’s distraction to pull Dean out of harm’s way as the binding spell tore up the ground, then Gabriel returned to his mission. 

When Angels died, their grace didn’t vanish immediately. Most people didn’t know that. When Demons died, they left a power trace behind too. Hunters… well, they didn’t do much but hey, they looked pretty. The important thing was to gather up the grace and the Demonic power before it dissipated back into the magical weave of the world. He was going to need every last drop for a miracle of this magnitude.

Once he was certain he had absorbed everything he could from the dead and the dying, Gabriel stood up on the tower and looked down at the chaos. Now that Michael and Lucifer were gone, it was a free-for-all. Angels didn’t function well without orders.

“Enough!” he shouted, trying to sound like the royal authority he had to be. It must have worked, as the Angels and Demons in the courtyard froze at the sound of his voice. Angels began to appear across the grass, summoned by the yell that had echoed through Heaven. Castiel appeared and Gabriel had to fight back a grin as the Angel caught sight of Dean alive and well. Such a lovesick pup.

But duty called, so Gabriel dragged his attention from Castiel’s wide blue eyes and spoke once more to his people. “Michael and Lucifer were both sick in the head. Oh don’t gasp like that, you all know it’s true. Michael became a narcissist about a century ago and Lucifer’s always been full of wrath. They were wrong, but we let them be wrong. I ignored their orders, you followed them, now we have this field of _death_! Look around you!”

The Angels did so, remorse already materialising on their faces. The Demons only sneered, of course, but their time was coming.

“So I’m ending this. The killing stops now. I say this as your new King.”

Some of the Angels shifted awkwardly, Uriel and Zachariah noticeably objecting to the idea of Gabriel in charge. Plenty of the Angels were glancing at one another to gage the appropriate reaction.

He closed his eyes, raised his hands and let the grace and power he had gathered flow around Heaven. He guided it through every fallen Hunter and every slain Angel. He gave back what Michael and Lucifer had stolen from them. He gave life. Gave them a fucking _miracle_ so that they’d all shut up.

Angels and Hunters looked around in astonishment at the resurrection, as dead allies climbed to their feet rejuvenated. Those who were still possessed seemed slightly unnerved at the sudden shift in numbers.

“Right. Angels, all of you grab a Demon and repeat after Dean Winchester. Today we’re going to learn how to perform an exorcism.”

*

Dean used his robe to mop the sweat from his forehead. As much as he’d missed Earth-Country, their weather could learn a trick or two from the comfortable warmth of Heaven. 

Still, it was no good to go thinking on what they’d left behind. It had been three months now. Heaven was a dark part of the Clan’s past, not worth wallowing in for the sake of a few bright spots.

“Hey,” Jess called as she entered his tent. “Those knives done or have you been moping again?” Somehow she didn’t seem half as bothered by the sun as Dean was, still wearing her little white robe over the more common Hunter clothes.

“I’m not moping. Too damn hot is all.”

“Uh-huh.” 

The Clan-Mother-in-training didn’t sound convinced at all. She wandered over to lean against the table where Dean was painstakingly engraving Demon-banishing wards onto their weaponry. The bastards were getting daring again, attempting to cross over into Earth-Country. There was a lot of rebuilding still to be done so Dean had taken on most of the defence tasks. It kept him busy, stopped him from thinking about certain blue-eyed Angels that were happy working for the King of Heaven.

“How’s the hunt gone this morning?”

“Sam went,” Jess replied with a smile. “I told him it wasn’t the Clan-Father’s duty, but I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet.”

“We need him co-ordinating the rest of the rebuild. Some of the families are still stuck sharing huts.”

“He knows, really, he does. He’ll get the hang of prioritising soon. If he doesn’t, I’m sure you’ll kick his ass. The Clan’s in good hands.”

Dean said nothing to that. He missed his father so much it was like a physical pain. The man had died not knowing if his people would ever be free. Dean would never forgive himself for failing the Clan, or for the fact that Sam blamed himself when there was nothing he could possibly have done. 

Dropping a knife into the crate, he pushed it over to Jess. “There, that should be enough for now. I’ll have some more done by tomorrow.”

“What about the visit?” 

“Visit?”

Jess frowned, hefting the crate into her arms. “Sam didn’t tell you? As part of King Gabriel’s terms of peace with us he’s sending over an ambassador. Someone to watch what we’re up to and impart any useful Angel knowledge.”

“Huh. No, he didn’t say.” Dean pulled out a fresh knife from the pile and lay it down on the table, ready for engraving. “I’m not really that bothered. I’ve seen enough Angels for one lifetime.” And only one of them was worth seeing.

“Okay, what should we say to the ambassador when you’re not there for the feast?”

“Say I’m not feeling well,” Dean suggested. “If the sun doesn’t get lost by this afternoon it’ll be the truth.”

“Well, alright, but your place will be set by the fire if you feel like wandering over later.”

Dean nodded. Damn straight his place would be set. One of the only perks of being Clan-Mother was making sure they always saved him a slice of pie.

After Jess left, Dean kept working on the knives. He didn’t begrudge the Clan their celebration – they needed a reason to be cheerful – but it did mean that he would have no assistance with the engravings. Oh, they’d rush to help if he asked, but he had no intention of asking. Let them party with the poor Angel that Heaven dumped down in Earth-Country. It had to be some stoic moron who had offended Gabriel somehow. Dean couldn’t see what the new King would gain from sending someone here, other than amusement.

Even after the sun went down, the heat was sweltering. Dean had stripped down to his red shorts in a desperate attempt to keep cool. He meant to fetch himself some water a few hours ago, but just kept telling himself ‘one more knife’. Eventually he was too hot to feel like trekking over to the spring.

One of the knives toppled from his hand. His fingers had grown clumsy over the last hour or so. Dean bent down to get it. Standing back upright seemed to drain all the blood from his head and he stumbled back as his vision went grey. His legs lost all their strength and he could do nothing about it but fall.

He didn’t hit the floor. Somebody caught him.

“You are unwell, yet the Clan let you overwork yourself?”

Dean gazed up into bright blue eyes. No freaking way. “Cas?”

The Angel lifted Dean like he weighed nothing and carried him to his bed. “You should be resting.”

“Why are you here?”

Castiel sat on the side of the bed and frowned down at Dean. “Sam did not inform you? Gabriel has sent me to be ambassador to your people.”

“Oh man, what did you do to deserve that?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said quietly, clasping his hands together on his lap. “I think he respects my decision to support the Hunters, so perhaps it is that.”

“No, I didn’t mean… I meant like, why would an Angel want to be stuck down here with us?”

“Most Angels would not,” Castiel agreed. “But I have missed you.” The Angel cleared his throat. “I understand however, that you have certain obligations to your Clan. I cannot expect your company here as I did in Heaven. You have weapons to work on, lore to study, supplies to sort, a camp to rebuild, a mate to find…”

“What?”

“Sorry. A wife. You are of an age where you will soon seek your romantic partner. I will help you with your work if you permit it, though of course not with your search for a mate. I mean, wife.”

Dean’s eyebrows raised. The whole time he had spoken, Cas had kept his gaze fixed on the far wall of the tent. “Cas, are you okay?”

The Angel sighed. “Yes. I’m merely questioning my own judgement. While I looked forward to seeing you very much, things that your Clan have said make me far less certain of my place here.”

“Who said what?” Dean asked, determined to find out who was discouraging his Angel’s interest in seeing him.

“Many of them were saying what I have just said to you. You are reaching an age where you are expected to become monogamous with one partner for the rest of your time. I had not taken that into account when I chose to come here.”

Trust his family to try and interfere. “I think they might have had an ulterior motive for saying that to you.” After all, nobody had mentioned anything to _him_ about settling down.

“Oh?”

He sat up slowly and smoothed his hand up the sleeve of Castiel’s soft, tan robe. The Angel felt bizarrely cool in the boiling summer’s night. 

“You’ve studied Hunter culture for a while, right?” 

Castiel nodded. 

“So you know the Clan-Mother needs to consider the opinions of all the Clan before settling down with anyone?” 

Castiel nodded again. Dean shifted his body closer to him on the bed, rumpling the blankets between them.

“I think they were giving you the okay. You saved me. You saved Jess. You saved _Sam_. We’d be mad to lump you in with all the other Angels that hurt us.”

The Angel swallowed nervously. “I would not have you feel indebted to me in any way. So much of your pain was my fault. I only ask for time to redeem myself to you, to…”

Dean cut him off with a kiss. The movement of Cas’ lips was tentative and unsure, but when Dean drew away, the Angel’s expression was one of stunned bliss.

“You don’t need to redeem anything,” Dean murmured. “You just need to stay.”

Castiel smiled, still dazed. “Then I shall.”

They spoke of insignificant things until Dean succumbed to sleep, resting peacefully against his loyal guardian.

*

Earth-Country was growing cooler as summer neared its end. Unlike Heaven, where the temperature and weather phenomena altered with the whims of the ruling Archangel, the climate changed with the seasons here. Castiel had mixed feelings towards the onset of colder temperatures. On the one hand, Dean would have an excuse to wear the clothing of a common Hunter, covering up much of the body that Castiel secretly coveted. On the other hand, when the Hunters wore more layers to resist the discomfort of cold, Castiel would feel less conspicuous in his robes and court clothes. 

Today Sam had taken him out on a hunt in the forest with some of the other Hunters. They had insisted he dress more like one of them and had given him the appropriate tunic and leathers. The clothing was tight and uncomfortable, but Castiel could see how the hardy fabrics might benefit a more delicate people.

At first he was uncertain as to his place in the group. Castiel usually spent his time back at the camp with Dean, watching the Clan-Mother work. Nobody seemed to mind, but this morning Sam had wandered over while Dean prepared a lesson in lore for the young ones, and asked if Castiel was available for a hunt.

Dean had been strangely pleased by the request and loaned Castiel his black stallion, Impala. Though Castiel had become a rather adept rider over the past month, he much preferred riding the horse when Dean sat with him as a guide, nestled between his legs, their hands entwined on the reins.

“That was a good kill, Cas,” Sam called from his steed, jolting Castiel out of his memory. “Quick, merciful. We’ve got more than enough for the Clan now, best head back.”

Castiel nodded and guided Impala to trot along beside Sam’s horse. At a close distance behind them were the other Hunters that had accompanied them – Jo, Rufus, Jody and Christian. Jody and Rufus’ horses were linked by a rough wooden frame that carried the spoils of the day. The forest was a pleasant place to look at. In Earth-Country the only natural source of light was the sun, so the leaves on the trees cast shadows and made interesting patterns upon the ground. 

“So, Cas. You and my brother seem to getting along very well.”

“I care for him a great deal.”

“That’s good. I know he missed you. But here’s the thing – you’re still sleeping in a different tent.” When Castiel looked over at the Clan-Father, he saw Sam had his brow furrowed in such a way that he seemed perplexed.

“It’s meditation. I don’t sleep. I felt that considering I was a constant presence in your brother’s chamber during his time in Heaven, I would not be welcome to watch over his slumber now he is back among his people.”

“Aw, honey,” Jody called from behind them, “You don’t have to look out for his virtue! If Dean didn’t want you here, you wouldn’t be here. To be quite frank, we’ve been expecting you to jump his bones for some time now.” 

“Jump his bones?” What did that mean? It sounded horrendous.

“Don’t scare the kid, Mills,” Rufus said with a chuckle, shifting his shotgun in his lap. “Angels don’t take the same approach as us.”

“Well that’s the problem, right there,” said Christian, his voice the loudest out of the group. “He ain’t wooing the Clan-Mother the way Dean’s waiting to be wooed.”

“Dean’s a grown man,” Sam said reproachfully, while Castiel sat in a state of bewilderment. “He could take the situation in hand.”

“But he’s also _Dean_ ,” Jo replied with a roll of her eyes. “So he won’t. Even after we sent Cas to his tent, practically with a _ribbon_ on.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, drawing their attention. “I don’t understand.” He seemed to have made some sort of faux-pas in his conduct with Dean. “Have I caused offence somehow?”

“Not yet,” Sam assured him. “And I think we can avoid it. Cas, do you love my brother?”

Castiel nodded firmly. He was proud of his emotions. They had the power to lead him to be a better person. “With all my being.” He looked around to see the reactions of the others. Jody Mills was beaming at him, the others smiling as if they were trying to hide their reaction.

Sam looked as happy as Jody. “Good. It’s a good omen for the Clan to begin a new season with a marriage.”

“Does the Clan-Father bless proceedings?” Christian asked. Though his tone was light, his words sounded rather formal. Castiel wondered if there was some other meaning in the conversation that he was unaware of. Their horses exited the forest, arriving at the new tents and huts of Haven, where the Hunters worked and played throughout summer.

“I do. Now we just need to get Dean on the same page.”

“Oh!” Jo raised a hand from her reins. “I know something that might work!”

“Go for it,” Sam said.

Jo slowed her horse and jumped off, her boots sending up a cloud of dust as she landed neatly. She jogged over to Castiel, reached up, and ripped open his tunic. “Pass it to me.”

Castiel knew he must have looked alarmed as he turned to Sam with wide eyes. But the Clan-Father just nodded and chuckled a little. “She’s going old-school stereotype with it. Trust us.”

After spending a moment debating the value of obedience, Castiel decided to call it curiosity and pulled off his open tunic, passing it down to the young woman. Jo tossed the green cloth over her shoulder. “You’re really strong, right?”

“Yes. Is that important?”

The Hunter shrugged. “Not to some people, but I hear Dean secretly digs the more… rugged members of the Clan.”

“And sometimes not so secretly,” Christian added with a smirk.

“Bring me over the apples,” Jo said, waving a hand towards Jody and Rufus, who had the basket hanging from the rough frame connecting their horses.

“With my back?” Rufus scoffed. “Our Clan-Father can lift my share.”

“Okay _fine_. Cas, can you detach the basket? I was going to get you to carry it anyway.”

Castiel had absolutely no idea what Jo was intending with her bizarre commands, but he saw no harm in collecting the apple basket for her. The Hunters used the fruit in their pies and Dean loved pie. He particularly liked apple pie and was known to snack on apples when the pies had not finished baking. In all honesty, it was the reason Castiel had requested they gather so much fruit on their trip today.

“Might I pass one or two of these apples to Dean? I think he would like them.”

“I think he would too,” agreed Jo with a nod. “That’s why I figured you could take the basket to him and let him know you gathered them for him.”

“Ooh, clever girl,” Jody said, her voice warm with approval.

“Yeah, that’s brilliant,” Christian nodded.

Unsure again as to what was going on, Castiel looked to the Clan-Father for answers. Sam smiled down at him and said, “Dean’s our Clan-Mother. Controversial in some ways, but painfully traditional in others. Family’s the main thing to him. It’s the _only_ thing to him. But he loves you, Cas. You go show off your Hunter credentials. He won’t be able to resist. Let him know we’ve got a couple of monsters to roast for the feast too. Tell him how you saved us from that wendigo today.”

“Then take him to his tent and let him show you how to make the first move,” Rufus said.

“Just spare us the details later,” Sam said with a laugh.

“Don’t worry about sparing us,” Jody said quickly, Jo nodding along with her in agreement.

Castiel lifted the basket easily and walked off into Haven in a state of utter bemusement, leaving Impala with Sam. Dean’s tent was not far from the forest and the apples were not heavy enough to slow him down. Very few of the chores that were frequent in Hunter life posed any difficulty to him. Even the rebuilding had been sped considerably by his Angelic powers. It was pleasing to see the Hunters settled into their home again, though they would migrate soon to their forest cabins for the colder months.

Dean was in the process of hanging special herbs around the outside of his tent, most likely warding against some of the strange beasts that escaped Purgatory and roamed the forests of Earth-Country. As the Clan-Mother stretched up, his red cloth vest rode up his body and revealed skin that Castiel longed to worship.

But that would hardly be proper. Dean was the Clan-Mother. He was sacred. Castiel was not Michael.

“I have brought you apples,” Castiel said as he approached.

“Huh?” Dean finished threading the herbs along the edge of the tent and smoothed down his top. He looked over at Castiel’s haul. “Wow. That’s a lot of apples, Cas.”

“They are for you.”

“I’m not sure I can eat that many apples.”

“Oh.”

For a moment they both stood there staring at one another. Such silences tended to make Dean fidget and this time was no exception. The Hunter traced his toes idly along the dry and dusty ground. Castiel did not want him to feel awkward, so he spoke again. “I saved the other Hunters from a wendigo.”

Dean’s eyebrows darted up. “Oh? Nobody was hurt?”

“No. I saved them all and smote the wendigo.”

“Way to go, Cas,” Dean said, a fond smile on his lips. Castiel longed to kiss him as he had on his first night in Earth-Country. It was not something they had spoken of.

“Sam asked me to tell you also that we have a couple of monsters that can be roasted for tonight’s feast. Slain by my hand.”

Dean worried his lower lip with his teeth for a moment then looked at Castiel in a way the Angel could not interpret. “So…you’re a real Hunter now.”

Castiel thought this over. He had hunted with the Clan, assisted in their repairs and daily chores, all in addition to being one of the most passionate followers of the Clan-Mother. He did not know what all the pre-requisites of Clan membership were, but Dean seemed to think this sufficed.

“I suppose I am.”

The Hunter glanced over Castiel’s shoulder and smirked. Castiel turned around and saw his hunting companions watching them from a distance.

“Cas, could you bring those apples into my tent?”

He nodded and lifted the basket up high, ducking to fit through the tent flap. Behind him Dean groaned quietly for some reason.

Inside Dean’s tent it was a mess. Due to his heavy workload, the Clan-Mother had artefacts and weaponry and lore books strewn all over the colourful rugs and mats that the Clan had weaved for him. Castiel placed the basket by the pile of guns. 

“Is this an acceptable place for –“

His words were blocked by Dean’s mouth, were licked away by the Hunter’s tongue as it licked against his own. Dean was pressed against him, his body hot and damp with sweat from his exertion that day. When the kiss ended Castiel brought his hand up to cup Dean’s face, swiping a thumb gently over the Hunter’s cheekbone and wondering whether this kiss would also go unmentioned.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to me, Cas?” Dean murmured cryptically before diving in for another kiss. Castiel obliged him, enjoying this very much and hoping it was as pleasant for Dean.

When this kiss was over, Dean rested his forehead against Castiel’s bare shoulder. “Just tell me, already,” the Hunter whispered.

“Tell you what?”

Dean blinked up at him, then lifted his head to better look Castiel in the eye. “You do want to take me, right? That’s why you’re always… you know, watching me and… Cas, do you want me?” Dean said it firmly, demanding, like their lives hung in the balance.

Castiel nodded. “I’m surprised you even needed to ask.”

“Of _course_ I needed to ask, it’s been a whole fucking month and you haven’t said anything. You haven’t even tried to kiss me again.”

“I was allowed to do that?” Castiel asked, amazed. He had wasted so much time! “You would have liked for me to do that, even without express permission?”

With a huff, Dean said, “Well yeah, we’re not big on lengthy courtships down here. Generally –mmf!” It was Castiel’s turn to interrupt with a sensual meeting of lips and tongue. Dean tasted divine. As they kissed, Dean’s arms wrapped around him, one hand rubbing at Castiel’s back while the other squeezed his rump.

“Forgive me,” Castiel said when they parted once more and Dean was panting against him. “I had no idea what was expected of me. I thought that after Michael…”

“Don’t talk about him. You’re nothing like him. I hated him. I love you.” 

After that, Dean looked away as if shy of his own words.

“I love you too,” Castiel replied. “And, if the idea is pleasing to you, I would very much like to stay here all night kissing you.”

Dean laughed, still the most beautiful sound that Castiel thought he could ever hear.

“Kissing’s just the start, Cas. I’m gonna give you the night of your life, make sure you don’t regret trading your wings for guns.”

Hours later, sated and awed and overwhelmed with love, Castiel held Dean’s sleeping form close and kissed the Clan-Mother on the forehead.

It was not a trade, Castiel’s descent to Earth-Country. 

He saw it more as salvation.


End file.
